RIVAL: An Enemies to Lovers Why Choose Country Romance

Chapter 3

“Son of a bitch!”

I wince as soon as I slip my shoes off. I’m not sure what he’s mad about, but I’m hoping it’s nothing to do with me. The door to the kitchen flies open as he storms in from the living room, wild eyes searching until they fall on me. Shoot, it’s definitely something I’ve done.

“You’re fuckin’ twenty goddamn years old, Edith! Start fucking actin’ like it! I don’t ask for a lot, but if you’re gonna keep livin’ here, the least you can do is the bare fuckin’ minimum!”

He’s livid, and I stand up straight, dropping my eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry. What did I miss? I only jus—”

Fat fingers tighten around my arm, and I’m yanked further into the kitchen behind him, the jerky move cutting off my explanation that I’ve only just gotten home after church. As soon as we’re in the center of the kitchen, my bare feet chilled by the cold linoleum, he shoves me forward until I catch my fall against the counter. My eyes fly over the surface and as soon as they spy the dishes in the sink, my stomach sinks at the same time my heart kicks up in speed.

Blood rushes through my ears when his meaty palm slams against the back of my head before gripping the nape of my neck. Shoving my face into the sink like a dog’s nose being rubbed in a mess on the floor, he holds me down.

“Is it too fuckin’ much to ask for ya to clean up after yourself? Jesus Christ girl! You dirty a dish, you fuckin’ wash the damn thing!” He shoves me down again before releasing his hold, delivering another blow to the back of my head before moving away.

My ears are ringing, and a few spots dance across my vision before my fast blinking clears them away. I don’t try to make any excuses. Instead, I twist the hot water to turn on the faucet and with a shaky hand, pump a few dollops of dish soap onto the sponge and start scrubbing before the water is even warm.

He rips the door to the fridge open, bottles rattling to yank out a bottle of beer before slamming it shut, muttering more insults under his breath. His fading footsteps indicate he’s leaving, but I refuse to turn around and check.

The door slams shut behind me, jolting my shoulders up to my ears as I continue to wash, then rinse the two bowls, spoon, and glass resting in the pristine stainless-steel basin.

Self-doubt swims inside of me. Should I have apologized?Why didn’t I wash these after breakfast? I run through my morning and the corners of my lips dip lower when I realize I did wash my dishes. I specifically remember making a piece of toast and pouring myself a small glass of orange juice. My father yelled at me to hurry and get dressed, so I quickly washed up my dirtied butter knife, plate, and glass before drying and setting them back into the cupboard. These must be his.

I should march into that living room where I’m sure he’s sitting, which is proven true seconds later as soon as I hear the TV turned on, and let him know that this wasn’t me. What would be the point? Clearly, he’s in a foul mood, and accusing him will only escalate his anger.

As soon as I have everything cleaned, I shut off the water, then grab a rag and dry them quickly before setting them in their place. I hear him chatting on his phone, and I’m certain he’s making arrangements for his friend Corbin to come over to watch Sunday sports. Sometimes Corbin’s brother, Griffin, tags along, so I know to make myself scarce.

Tiptoeing from the kitchen, I sneak up to my room and grab a sweater before slipping out the back door. I’m barely ten feet into the yard before the loud screech of the rusty door creaks open. “The boys are comin’ over in about an hour. If you’re not too busy doin’ nothin’ around this fuckin’ place, it’d be nice if you could make an early dinner.”

I look longingly toward the shed with Raleigh, then beyond toward my spot near the ledge. My shoulders drop and I turn back toward the house. “Anything you wanted specifically? I had some sausage thawed, but I don’t think it’ll be enough for everyone.”

Grunting in annoyance, he heads back inside, and I have to snap my hand out to stop the door from shutting in my face. Slipping off my shoes, I move toward the freezer and peer inside. “There’s another package of sausage I could thaw, but not enough for four.”

“Find yourself somethin’ else for dinner then. That’ll be enough for us if you whip up a few sides.” He doesn’t wait for me to agree, heading back to the TV, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

Sighing, I pull out the frozen meat and set it in a bowl, filling it with cold water to thaw. I keep myself busy for the next hour and a half, ignoring the loud voices when the Graham brothers arrive. My father slips in to grab the case of beer without saying a word to me, so I keep fixing food. A side of baked beans, some pasta salad, then I turn on the griddle to cook the sausage once everything else is finished.

There are six fat links ready as I finish up the last two, eyeing them with a watering mouth. I’m sure there would have been enough for me as well, but he knows how many we have and would be pissed if someone goes looking for more and none are left.

Pulling out the hot dog buns from the pantry, I set them on the counter and lay out the rest of the dishes as the door opens behind me, letting in the loud noise and laughter from the living room.

“Oh! Didn’t even know you were in here. Whatcha makin’?”

Peering over my shoulder, I eye Griffin before focusing back on uncovering the salad. “Dinner,” I murmur.

He slips in behind me to observe over my shoulder, inhaling deeply as his stomach rumbles. “Shit, that smells amazin’. You been makin’ this all afternoon?”

I can count on one hand the number of times this man has ever spoken to me, let alone been this close. The heat radiating from his chest sears my back when he reaches to snag a piece of pasta that’s fallen from my spoon as I transfer it into a serving bowl. Popping it into his mouth, he groans, then steps away to pull another drink from the fridge.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing on like I’ve answered. “So good.” His compliment heats my cheeks, the can of his drink fizzing as he opens it. “You comin’ into the living room to watch the game with us?”

Freezing a second, I turn to stare at him blankly. Is he serious? My father would lose his mind if I tried to interrupt his get together. Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “No. Would you let them know they can come eat?” I ask, rinsing my hands under the water before drying my fingers on the towel.

He pauses with his drink halfway to his mouth as I slip around him, giving him a wide berth as I make my escape from the kitchen. I’ll find something to eat later when it’s closer to bedtime. Maybe after they’re gone and my father is passed out in his chair. I can clean up the mess from dinner then.

“You’re not eatin’?”

Shaking my head again, I answer over my shoulder without looking at him. “No. I hope you enjoy it, though.” Just before I slip around the corner to head to my room, I take a quick peek and suck in a breath at the way he’s staring at me, confused and frowning.

I force a quick smile before rushing upstairs as quietly as I can, missing a step and grunting when my shin hits the wooden landing as I stumble. My heart is racing, ashamed at tripping and praying he didn’t hear how clumsy I was.

Just as I’m shutting the door to my room, I hear him questioning my father. “Damn, Clay. I didn’t realize your daughter could cook like this. Why’s she not eatin’ with us?”

My door snicks shut before I hear his answer, and I groan low into my pillow as soon as I land on my bed. I’ll give them an hour before I sneak outside to go for a walk. There are faint noises filtering through the floor, and I know they’re diving into their meal. I hope it’s good enough. My stomach rumbles the longer I lie here, wishing I had a chance to at least sneak in some bites before he showed up.

After what I’m sure is more than an hour, I jerk upright, remembering the cookies I’ve hidden on a plate under a dish towel. I did leave some for my father to snack on, but these are the half dozen I wanted to take over to the Cooper farm. Partly as an apology for bothering their son out in the field, but also because I’m desperate to have a conversation with someone other than Mrs. Danielson, as much as I do enjoy her company.

Padding back down the stairs, I peer around the wall and find no one in the kitchen. It’s an absolute disaster, a few pasta noodles on the floor and a napkin crumpled next to the trash can. I’ll leave it for now. My father goes mad when I make extra noise in here, especially when a game is on.

Slipping the plate out from under the towel, I count the cookies and breathe a sigh of relief when they remain untouched. It doesn’t take me long to slip out the back before I’m picking my way along the edge of our yard to the road. As soon as I’m out of view of the house, I hurry my steps until I’m standing in front of the Coopers’ home, my fist raised to knock, but I hesitate.

What if they’re angry about my presence like Mason was?Still unsure why our families have always feuded, I realize it’s got nothing to do with me. So, I steel my nerves and knock crisply on the door.

They must be older, considering Mason is probably close to my father’s age of forty-one, although he does seem to look a bit younger, and I’m pleased when the front door swings open after waiting a minute or two.

It’s Mr. Cooper, his brows lifting in surprise. “Afternoon. Can I help you?”

Letting my smile fill my face, I hold the paper plate in front of me. I’d never use one of our dishes in case I wasn’t able to get it back. Father would certainly blame me for the missing piece. “I don’t believe we’ve met, at least not in a long while, so I don’t quite remember. I’m Edith Hughes, your neighbor. I baked some cookies yesterday and thought…” I trail off, not sure what to say because I’m not sure I was thinking clearly. When I finish, it’s more unsure. “I thought you and your wife and son might enjoy them.”

Mrs. Cooper steps to his side with a frown, but not unkindly. I meet her eyes and my smile wobbles, ready to break. Neither answer, seemingly more surprised I’m standing here than the fact I’ve brought them a treat.

My voice comes out in a whisper. “Is it alright that I brought them? I can take them back if you’re not interested. I just… I made so many and, well… I might have irritated Mason the other day and figured this could be an apology of sorts as well.”

“Irritated Mase, huh? How’d ya manage that?” Mr. Cooper’s voice is just as gruff and low as Mason’s but tinged with age.

Dragging my eyes away from Mrs. Cooper, I glance at him before letting them fall to my feet. “I saw him riding out in the field and it seemed something was wrong, so I followed to see if he might need a hand. He was roping some calves who escaped, but it was probably poor timing on my part.” Holding the plate out again, I ask, “Would you like them? They’re chocolate chip. Nothing real special, and I’m not sure if I’m that great of a baker, but most people seem to enjoy them down at the church.”

My hands are shaking as I hold the plate out. Mrs. Cooper finally rolls her eyes and elbows her husband in the side. “For God’s sake, Bill, would ya take the plate from the girl?”

“Oh! Right, sorry ‘bout that.” He plucks the plate from my hands, which fall to my sides in fits immediately. Eyeing them curiously, he studies them, then me, before offering a polite smile. “Thank you for the offerin’. I’m sure they’re perfectly fine.”

Nodding, I take a step back, then fold my hands together in front of me. “I hope they’re to your liking. Anyway, that’s all I came by for.” Lifting my chin toward the plate, I add, “Just to bring those. I hope you have a—”

“The hell you doin’ here?”

Both of Mason’s parents jerk their heads to the side, along with me, when Mason’s growl breaks the awkward conversation we’re having. My eyes widen slightly, and I take another step back from the door. “I just thought to bring over some—”

Stepping heavily onto the porch, he glares down at me as he passes by. Green. His eyes are green, and his hair is as dark as I thought. “Thought I told you to stay off our property. What’s your daddy playin’ at now?” Snagging the plate from Mr. Cooper’s hands, he eyes it for the threat it isn’t, then shoves the plate back toward me. I scramble to grab it before he lets it fall, the flimsy paper bending as the cookies shift to the edge. “Go on,” he snaps, ordering me away.

I can’t meet anyone’s eyes as I right the plate, then nod quickly before turning to escape. “Sorry,” I mumble, taking a few steps down before his mother’s censure stops me.

“The hell is wrong with you, boy?” Her smack, and his complaining grunt makes me wince. She calls out to me while I keep my back to all of them. “We’re happy to take the cookies. Ignore him. He’s always cranky when he’s gotta work on Sundays.”

I try not to pull away when her hand grips my shoulder, turning me toward her. Shoving the plate in her direction, I only briefly catch Mason’s glare before dragging my eyes away.

Mumbling only for her, I’m able to get out a quick, “I hope you enjoy them,” before I spin on my heel and jog down their long drive. A new truck is parked next to theirs now, and I’m shocked I didn’t hear it arrive as we were talking.

Hearing low, heated voices, I don’t attempt to listen in and the moment I hit the paved road, I run quickly back to my house. As soon as I’m inside, I’m brought up short by my father standing in the middle of the kitchen. He narrows his eyes as I gasp for air. “What the hell you doin’?”

I’ve never lied to him a day in my life, but this time I do and pray to God that he doesn’t see right through me. “Just… Just went out for a walk while you ate. Came back to clean up. You startled me, is all.”

He eyes me carefully, and I’m not sure if he buys it. Both of us look toward the door to the living room when loud voices start cheering, and I blow my breath out softly when he turns from me without another word.

I press a hand to my chest to ease the pounding of my heart before washing my hands in the sink, then wrap up the food they’ve left. With a quick peek to where my father disappeared, I grab one of the spoons on the counter and shovel in a few mouthfuls of the pasta salad before putting the rest in the fridge. Turning on the water, I start washing the dishes, thankful my father didn’t call me out for my lie and that the Coopers took the cookies.

Hopefully, they’ll be good enough to make them happy.