Chapter 3
Chapter Three
FIERCE
M y day started before dawn, even though I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Despite her promises, Felicity never called, and when I tried to reach her, she didn’t pick up. I tried to excuse it as a one-time thing. But the same thing happened with my morning call, sending my imagination spiraling in a thousand different directions.
Even now, the worst possible scenarios fill my mind. That she’s been injured or kidnapped. If anything’s happened to her, I won’t stop until I kill those responsible. Then again, maybe she’s busy with another guy or tired of talking to me. These possibilities have me in Purgatory as I go back over every part of our conversation from yesterday morning, wondering what I said or did wrong.
To make matters worse, Ama keeps pressuring me to get a wife from Euskal Herria. Something that, by all rights, should have happened a year ago on my thirty-fifth birthday. I myself agreed to this end date many years before, never foreseeing being this old and this single. The pressure is on, which means Felicity and I are running out of time.
Maybe it’s for the best. As much as I’ve fallen for the woman, I can’t deny the obstacles would be great if we got together. Obstacles I can’t begin to surmount in my mind. But I had hoped she would be able to…as the smart one in our pairing.
I can’t tell Felicity any of this, of course. How could she understand that a grown-ass man is kept so far under his parents’ thumbs that he faces an arranged marriage?
When I explain the situation to my American friends, like Rock, who owns Hollister’s one tattoo shop, Wicked Skin, they can’t wrap their heads around the whole thing. Rock basically implied I’m a pussy for letting my parents push me around. Maybe that’s the case, but I’ve been groomed to take over the family business and ranch as the eldest Amestoy.
Few Americans understand how familia or family works in the Basque culture. It’s not like this is true in most Basque-American families anyway. But my parents are both from Basque France so recently that they have thick accents and thicker traditions. Honestly, Ama’s grasp of English is downright poor. Instead, we speak a mixture of Basque and French anytime we’re all together. And that entails big family dinners at the main ranch house daily.
My role as eldest son comes with specific responsibilities and a code of honor that’s undeniable, but an arranged marriage would represent a kind of death for me. I fear it even more than offending the familia. Which has me at a painful crossroads. My parents will likely never accept a woman like Felicity, but a grandkid or two might take the sting out of their heartbreak.
Besides, what did they expect when they moved to the United States to set up shop in California? Times change, and so do people. I can’t be held to archaic expectations, and Felicity’s definitely got enough bravado to help me stand my ground. If she wants to…but that’s a pretty big fucking caveat.
I just hope Felicity’s okay. If any harm has come to her, I’ll end up in prison. Period.
Pocketing my cell phone, I focus on the business at hand, relocating the electric fence to a new pasture that’s not overgrazed. Left to their own devices, sheep will pull grass up by its roots, wreaking havoc on pastures.
All six of my brothers are here to help, which requires preparing the new grazing area by clearing it of debris and brush. We should have gotten an earlier start, I muse, watching the golden slant of afternoon light scatter across the pasturelands. But it only means we must work more efficiently.
Things used to be much easier before the fucking Rough & Ready cowboys got it into their heads to keep our herds off the highlands. It led to a fistfight with Christian, Gold County’s sheriff and the Bobcats’ former quarterback. He and I have exchanged plenty of blows over the years. The blond asshole’s about the only guy who’s ever given me a run for my money, but I’d like to avoid future altercations. Now that he’s sheriff, I can’t expect him to let me off with anything less than battery against a law enforcement officer if we go at it again.
Xabier, one of my middle brothers, teases in Basque, “Ama’s got a surprise on its way for you, Bro. I hope you’re ready to keep her satisfied.”
I frown. Nothing like fucking younger brothers. They never stop. It doesn’t help that half of them are already married with one or more children on the way. Xabier is one of the lucky bastards. “Do you ever stop flapping your gums? You’d think with a wife, you would have learned by now how to keep your mouth shut.”
Julen chimes in, “Leave Bixintxo alone. I can’t think of anything worse than being forced to get married.”
“An arranged marriage might calm you down a bit and turn you into a respectable older brother,” Unai jabs, another of my married middle brothers. He runs his hand through his dark waves, straightening for a moment before returning to his labors.
“And I’m not a respectable older brother now?”
“You’ve got eyes in this world,” Unai says disdainfully. “Too easily caught up in American culture and values. Just look at your tattoos.”
“Last time I checked, I’m a fucking American.”
Julen nods with a grin. I can tell these are things he would like to say, too.
But Unai reminds, “Bi etxetako txakurra, goseak jan.” A dog belonging to two houses dies of hunger. It’s one of my ama’s favorite proverbs when it comes to me. That and: “Arrotz-herri, Otto herri.” A foreign land is a land of wolves . But my parents chose this foreign land, and I’m hellbent on not only making my home here but thriving.
I shake my head, my face storming.
“Why would you want an American woman anyway? Good luck finding a virgin or a good mother,” Xabier warns as my other brothers stop and listen.
I fist my hands at my sides, ready to throw down. Without regular reminders of who’s in charge, my younger siblings get out of line. Fortunately, Xabier doesn’t know about Felicity because if I thought he was directing his words specifically toward her, he’d already have his face in the mud with a black eye or two.
Eneko gestures like he holds a cell phone to his ear, which instantly makes me grit my teeth. “What about his secret lover on the phone? We’ve all seen him talking to her.”
I grit my teeth, narrowing my gaze.
“Don’t try to deny it,” Eneko continues. “You’ve gone into the backroom to talk a few times, and I’ve heard more than I should.”
“Don’t say one more thing about something you don’t understand,” I command. I’m ready to fight the whole lot of them, although I know Julen will back me. He always has, but he’s also the slightest of frame among my brothers and the least capable of fending off their attack.
“What are you going to do about it?” Eneko asks, and I see red.
“Beat the shit out of you and anyone else who’d like to have it out!” I growl, working hard not to slam my fists into my chest, King Kong-style. Even though the odds don’t favor me, I’d rather deal with physical pain than let these assholes run their mouths about anything associated with my girl.
“Wait, I have an idea,” Oier exclaims, muscling into the circle forming around Eneko and me. “Let’s have a rock-carrying contest. Whoever can lift the biggest, heaviest boulder wins.”
Eneko laughs, flexing his biceps and regarding the muscles that strain against his Carhartt with boastful glee. But I know I can outmatch all my brothers when it comes to contests of strength. I gladly nod, ready to kick their asses, whether by lifting rocks or breaking faces with my fists.
I add, “Why stop at rock carrying? I say we add wood chopping and tug-of-war to the mix. There has to be rope lying around somewhere.” I crack my neck from side to side as my brothers’ faces mix with varied reactions from glee to trepidation. “And then, if we’re not happy with the results, we can mud wrestle or go back to my original plan of beating the shit out of each other.” After the night and morning I’ve had, I need to blow off some steam with my fists.
Despite the chill of the February weather, I throw my cowboy hat to the ground and peel off my flannel and undershirt. My brothers follow suit. This is going to get messy and muddy quickly because unseasonably warm days have melted more of the snow pack than usual, making the ground water-laden.
Eneko steps forward, glaring at me vindictively. “If we’re having a rural sports competition today, let’s start with wood chopping.”
Of course, he would suggest this. It’s the only area he stands a chance of besting me.
“Alright,” I nod. “In that case, we’ll need solid judges and a crowd to watch me kick your ass. Julen, go get the family.”