Chapter 4
Justin
I swing my seven-year-old niece into my arms as her giggles fill my ears.
“Uncle Justin,” she squeals as her little arms wrap around my neck for only a second before she wriggles to be put down.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she’s running to an area farther away from the bonfire, one dominated by people her size.
She is completely in her element, playing with friends she’s known most of her life.
I suppose it’s not a lot different than those I’m standing with—friends forever.
A hand comes to my lower back. I turn, seeing my sister’s smile.
“Remember when she wanted to be held all the time?”
“Yeah.”
Kandace hands me a plastic cup with foam.
“Since when do you bring me beer?”
“Apparently, not everyone in Riverbend knows everything.” She laughs. “Crystal brought it to me. Hated to see it go to waste.”
“You mean, she doesn’t know about” —my gaze goes to Kandace’s midsection and back to Kandace’s blue eyes, a little lighter than my own— “my new niece or nephew? Shocker.”
The truth is that Kandace isn’t showing yet. That doesn’t usually stop the gossip mill.
“I know,” she says. “Riverbend needs to up its game. It’s not like Dax and I have announced it formally or on social media, but come on, this is Riverbend.”
I take a sip of the beer. “Dax tell you about the Dunns’ farm.” I wasn’t sure if it was a question. The thing is that I’ve been giving the whole concept a lot of thought.
Kandace nods. “I’m pretty sure,” she whispers, “it’s not something we should talk about here—especially if they aren’t sure about selling.”
“You’re probably right.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “What’s eating you?”
Kandace knows me well. I’ve felt off since Ricky told me about the possible sale. “Nothing,” I lie.
“Yeah, right.” She looks all around. “In case you’d like to inform your face, you’re at a party, the kickoff of spring. Tradition.”
My lips quirk to a smirk. “I like tradition. It’s change I don’t care for.”
“There’s my brother. Admit what bugs you and try smiling. I promise it won’t hurt.”
My cheeks rise as I shake my head. “You can be a real pain in the ass.”
Kandace laughs loud enough for others to look our direction. I take another drink of the beer.
“Thanks for helping me out,” she says with a wink and a glance at the cup.
“I’ve got your back. Bring me all the beer.”
Soon we’re joined by her husband, Dax. Before I know it, Cory and Judy Sams and Mick and Chloe Reynolds are also here. The conversation goes from the recent rain to the upcoming softball season. Of course, there are mentions of children.
We aren’t the only group talking, laughing, and drinking—well, other than my sister on the last one. Across the open lawn, Mom and Dad are talking with Lynell Jacobs and his wife. This hog roast is truly a Riverbend tradition.
Kandace and Dax move to the stadium chairs they brought.
With the sun below the horizon, there’s a chill to the spring air.
The cooling temperature doesn’t stop the fun as more and more cars pull onto the farm, parking near the big barn.
Headlights stream across the crowd and go dark.
There are three long tables filled to overflowing with dishes everyone brought.
Since I live with Mom and Dad, I didn’t need to contribute.
Mom brought enough potato salad and green bean casserole for an army. Nevertheless, I’m a grown man.
I brought a bag of potato chips.
A giant bag.
The kind with ridges.
Leaving the married couples to themselves, I make my way over to the keg. While a lot of the men in this cluster are younger than me, some are also older. I pick up on my dad’s discussion.
“Yeah, I know it’s a slow start, but the Cardinals will pull themselves up. I see a pennant in the future.”
“Distant future,” Ricky says. He and my dad have always razzed one another about baseball.
Ricky was raised a Red Sox fan. It’s stupid with him living his whole life in Indiana.
I’ve heard the story. It’s that Ricky’s dad, Jack, is left-handed.
When he was a kid, he was given a Fred Lynn autographed left-handed glove.
Fred was a center fielder for the Red Sox.
The rest is history. Not only for Jack but for the next generation as well.
Peering over the rim of Dad’s cup, I grin, seeing the pink of the lemonade available near the food table. Dad has had a few health problems and not drinking alcohol is one of the ways he’s working to keep himself healthy.
After a detailed analysis of the Cardinals’ pitching lineup, I decide to take a walk. I’m not sure exactly what’s eating at me. It could be the idea of the Dunns selling. Whatever it is, my skin is too tight and even a cup of beer doesn’t ease my taut nerves.
I know the Gordon property like I know my own.
The Gordon farm is bigger, at least by four times.
There isn’t a man in Riverbend who hasn’t at one time worked on this farm.
Not always for money. That’s the way things are around here.
We pitch in. At harvest time, even people who live away come back to help.
Well, it’s tradition.
Like tonight’s party.
My boots slip in the soft mud as I make my path away from the crowd of people and the orange glow of the bonfire. With each step, the voices dull and the sky above me grows blacker, the stars multiply, and the moon shows itself near the horizon.
Big.
Round.
Bright.
Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I stand at the top of a ridge.
The large barn and party are behind me. Ahead of me is a pond surrounded by what will soon be fields filled with hay.
A smile curls my lips as I recall swimming in that murky water of the pond as a kid.
Probably everyone did. How we didn’t come out covered in leeches, I’ll never know.
Something catches my eye.
No.
Not something.
Someone.
Up ahead near the pond, I see a slender figure.
Is that person wearing a cape?
What the hell?
This isn’t a costume party.
Steadying my steps so I don’t slip, I go closer to the pond. My ears perk up, but all I hear is the distant party and the sounds of an Indiana night. The chirping crickets are a sure sign the weather is warming.
As I get closer, I see that it’s not a cape the person is wearing but a hooded sweatshirt. With the rising of the moon, I can tell the color is golden. From the size of the person, I’m assuming it’s a woman. “Are you all right?” I ask.
The person spins.
The moonlight brightens her face.
She’s definitely a woman.
Damn.
Her eyes are as big as saucers.
“You scared me,” she says in a friendly yet frightened tone.
I lift my hands. “Sorry.” Reading her sweatshirt, I add, “Boiler up.”
“What?” She looks down and laughs. “Right. Yes. Boiler up.”
Her laugh is contagious, and for a moment I join in.
Tilting my head, I walk closer. With each step I realize how petite this woman is. Nevertheless, with my eyes on hers, I have no doubt she’s a grown woman. “Are you from around here?”
She pushes her hands in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. “I used to be.”
Shaking my head, I stop a few feet away. “I’m sure I’d remember you if you still lived here.” I gesture back to the party. “How did you hear about this? It’s kind of a local thing.”
“A friend invited me.”
“Oh.” I look around. “Is that friend going to be upset that I’m talking to you?” I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m not usually this forward. Then again, I meant to get away from people, not come face-to-face with an attractive woman.
She pushes the hood off her head.
My breath catches as the moonlight glistens off her light hair. It’s piled on top of her head in what Kandace calls a messy bun. Even messy she’s stunning. With a perky nose, full pink lips, and a slender neck, I’m awestruck.
“I don’t have a boyfriend or significant other—if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I don’t know how that is possible.”
Her chin lowers.
The movement is shy, cute, and damn sexy.
“My name is Justin.”