8. Chapter 8
8
I fussed with the edges of the pie, it was overcooked, I was sure of it. If I didn’t leave it, I was going to crack it with my fidgeting, so I slipped a clean cloth over the top. I was nervous about the pie, but also my tea. I’d taken to setting the leaves out in the sun to dry and reuse. Miraculously, it lasted me the summer. There was a week’s worth left of the tin. I needed to find another solution to mask my scent.
At times I caught the faintest whiff of peach.
“It looks good. You did well.” Oliver soothed. Something about the praise from the quiet man filled me with warmth. I’d spent many late afternoons with him in the kitchen, taking his silent instructions. My cooking had improved, and he was happy to let me chat, giving very little back. Whatever I’d said wrong to him months ago, to make him storm out, I hadn’t repeated, and I hoped it was simply because I didn't know him well enough. Oliver kept himself wrapped up tight, and every time I peeled back another layer a rush of warmth flooded me.
“I just want it to be perfect, to make Mrs. Hartlock proud somehow.” I laughed, mashing the boiled turnips. Oliver sliced off a thin knob of butter and added it to the pot.
“You are Mrs. Hartlock now.” He grimaced and shifted to the opposite side of the table. His orange rind scent turned bitter, and he tapped a finger on the dish of sliced ham. “I’ll take this in.”
I nodded, putting the final touches on the plain fare I was serving for dinner. The actual star of the meal was the apple pie Oliver helped me make. Despite Bram’s efforts to be disruptive. He was convinced I shouldn’t cook the pie, and I understood his reluctance. He missed his mother and there was a difference between Oliver making it, someone who knew and respected her, rather than me. I was still the interloper, but I was determined not to be. This time next year, I hoped Bram and I would have a close relationship. Ever since I convinced Ruck to spare Charlie, he’d been less overtly insulting, but when it came to his mother, he was protective. Oliver returned and grabbed the dinner rolls. I spent all day preparing for this meal and my stomach twisted with nerves.
“Come. Everything will be fine.” Oliver hovered near me, grimacing again as I heeded his words. I gave him a soft smile in thanks, and he ducked his head. The pink on his sun-bronzed cheeks were like berries in the setting sun. Golden and red. It said more than his words ever could, but I wanted to coax more of those precious nuggets out.
When I entered the dining room, I saw a bunch of violet and white blooms in a vase on the table. The white ones hung like bells over the glass lip of the vase. I almost dropped the plate of steamed beans I was holding, my gaze flying to Hale. He was staring to the side, attempting nonchalance, but his jaw was tight. Ruck shifted in his seat with a wide, evil grin.
“Do you like your flowers, Esta?” he poked as I slipped into my seat. Hale made a strangled noise of anger, staring daggers at his brother. But Ruck wasn’t deterred. “Hale picked them for you specially.”
He meant to embarrass his stalwart sibling, but nothing could tarnish the sheen of this moment. It wasn’t the flowers, but the thought behind them. A knot of warmth glowed deep in my stomach. My skin prickled at my husband’s closeness, and it wasn’t the first time I wanted to settle myself on his lap. Ever since the night I mended his shirt, things changed between us. The palpable tension followed me everywhere, rich earth and sharp pepper ingrained in my skin. I walked around the house on eggshells, jumping at every noise.
Waiting for Hale.
Wanting Hale.
“I love them, thank you,” I gushed. Hale’s lips curled in a relieved smile, and he waved a hand for us to dig into the meal.
“They’re a thank you for being so accommodating. You’ve made this place feel like a home for the first time in years. You do like flowers, don’t you?”
My cheeks were red hot brands, and I took a moment to serve myself before I looked at him again. I knew we were being rude. The strangled conversation Ruck attempted with Oliver withered while Hale and I gazed at each other. The tension between us stole my breath, but my heart only raced faster.
“What woman doesn’t enjoy flowers?” Why did my voice sound so breathy and strange? My head was muzzy, and I almost dropped my knife. But Hale wouldn’t stop staring at me and it was discombobulating. He sawed through a slice of ham and chewed on it with a slight frown.
“But do you like flowers? Or is there another gift you prefer?”
The knot in my stomach burst, flooding me with heat. My husband wanted to spoil me. It was so unexpected, and I couldn’t help but feel pleased. When I got on the train to Misery Creek, I didn’t know if I was going somewhere worse. But it was the best decision I ever made. I sought safety in the wildlands, not love. But it hovered within tantalizing reach, throbbing in my chest with each aching thump of my heart.
“I love gifts that have meaning. Like the pretty rock from Oliver.” I tossed him a bright smile, and he looked at his plate, fists scrunching either side. Bram snorted and pointed his fork at Oliver.
“Your cheeks are as red as your hair now,” he teased. Ruck thwacked his younger brother on the back of his head, making the young boy scowl. The meal was filling and tasty enough, but I could tell the men wanted the pie cooling in the kitchen. As soon as I laid my knife and fork across my plate, Oliver insisted on serving it. My stomach swooped, and I was glad I was sitting. This pie was more than a simple dessert. It was a symbol of my future and acceptance into this family.
“How is Dalton settling in?” I asked Ruck to distract from my sickening nerves. His lips kicked up, hazel eyes greener today. He licked his lips as Oliver carted in the pie before answering.
“I’ve never met a more spirited stallion. But every time I think I’ve made some progress, he puts me in my place. Nearly took a chunk out of my arm yesterday.” Ruck rolled up his sleeve to show a blue and black bruise spreading over his forearm. The sight of his coiled muscle and pronounced veins made my stomach heat for some reason. “I got distracted. I don’t normally make such beginner’s mistakes.”
“What was on your mind?” Hale asked, sniffing deeply as Oliver slid a plate of pie in front of him. The pastry crumbled and the apple slices looked fat and juicy. I tangled my hands together on my lap to stop picking at them.
Ruck flicked a look at me before clenching his jaw. “Just a fool’s dream,” he muttered, taking the plate Oliver offered.
“Thank you for your help.” I said to Oliver directly, and he grunted. My plate clattered as he all but dropped it in front of me. Bram’s lips twisted in a smile and his eyes twinkled as I caught his gaze. I hoped he would approve of my efforts. I wasn’t trying to replace his mother, but to honor her and this family.
“It is the last day of summer and as is tradition we celebrate with mama’s apple pie; gods rest her soul. Family is everything and we have a new member who has become such a welcome addition. Let’s toast to the future. As the weather turns cold, let our hearts keep us warm.”
Hale tipped his glass to mine, and I clinked my water against it. My insides squiggled with erratic warmth as everyone toasted. My fork hovered in the air as I waited for Hale to try the apple pie. He took a mouthful, his eyelids fluttering open and cheeks pinching inward. My stomach dropped as Ruck spluttered out a mouthful, pressing his napkin to his tongue. Oliver shoveled in a mouthful, chewing it slowly. His frown deepened as he obviously struggled to eat it.
My fingers shook as I took a bite myself, my taste buds exploding with a sharp bitterness I wasn’t expecting. I scrunched my face up and pressed my glass of water to my lips in a desperate attempt to wash away the taste.
The pie was a horrendous failure. What had I done wrong?
“I ain’t eating this muck.” Bram sniffed and tossed his fork on the table. “You ruined mama’s pie. I knew you would.”
My fork slipped through my fingers, the clank of it jarring, disturbing, like my thoughts. I looked at Hale, to see him surreptitiously spit up his mouthful into his napkin. A roar filled my ears. Utter mortification dripped down my spine.
“I don’t know what happened. I followed every instruction.”
My body flushed hot and cold. I twisted my napkin in my lap, wondering where I’d made a mistake. The awful silence was heavy on my shoulders, like the invisible weight of the true Mrs. Hartlock judging me. Oliver pushed back from the table and stormed into the kitchen, two red spots on his cheeks.
Of course, he was furious at me. He would have made a perfect pie, not like mine.
“It’s alright, Esta, everyone makes mistakes,” Ruck grimaced down at the pie.
“Let Oliver cook next year. At least he has some brains in his melon.” Bram fought a smile, but it vanished when Oliver stomped back into the room. In his hands, he gripped the sugar sack and tossed it onto the table. The tiny white granules sifted through a minuscule gap, and the room was filled with the hiss as it trickled onto the floor. I let out a sound of horror, snatching the bag up and setting it upright.
“I’m so sorry,” I started, grappling to find the words around as shame prickled hot in my veins. This was their family’s tradition, and I’d ruined it. Oliver placed his hand over mine. No, he was directing my fingers inside the bag.
“Taste it.” He said, terse like he was grappling with his temper. I brought my fingers to my mouth, expecting sweetness, but was met with the sharp taste of salt. Oliver jabbed his finger in Bram’s direction, but he spoke to Hale. “He dumped the salt in with the sugar.”
Ruck hissed as Hale rose from his chair. Graceful power exuded from him, silent and deadly. Bram shuffled in his seat, a protest exploding out of him immediately.
“I didn’t.” He tried as Hale loomed over him. I took a few steps backward. The dark look on Hale’s face was intimidating. I bumped into Oliver, and he steadied me with his hand on my hip. For a moment, he kept it there.
“Esta,” my name rolled off his tongue. “You did nothing wrong.” My breath hitched in my throat, and I wobbled on my feet, struck by the fierce protectiveness in Oliver’s eyes. He snatched his hand back, throat bobbing.
“Bram, why?” Ruck ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. Bram’s bony shoulders drooped, and his eyebrows knitted together in sharp defiance. The young boy would throw himself off a cliff before he capitulated, especially if it had anything to do with me.
Hale’s hand snapped out and wrapped around Bram’s collar. “Tell me, dammit. We want to move on. Esta wants to be part of this family. She is part of this family.” Hale amended. Color rose up his neck. I wanted to suck in great, deep breaths of their mingled scents, let it calm my rioting emotions. But I could see their alpha designation barraging in, and soon, this room would be a flurry of muscles and growls. My skirts whispered with urgency as I slipped in between Hale and Bram. My husband made a low noise, his knuckles whitening on Bram’s collar despite my body making the hold awkward for him to maintain.
“Please, may I speak with Bram for a moment? Alone?” Bram’s nostrils flared, but he had the good sense to hold his tongue. Hale’s hand released, and he kneaded my shoulder, conciliatory when paired with his next words.
“Esta, it would be better if you left for a moment. We need to speak with our brother to make him understand. I won’t have him treating you like this.”
I had no misgivings about what that meant. As soon as I took one step out of this room, Bram would get the beating of a lifetime. That wasn’t the legacy I wanted to leave this family. It wasn’t what Mrs. Hartlock would want for her boys, including Oliver, who had lived on the ranch long enough to be like an adopted son. I crossed my arms and pinned him with a look over my shoulder.
“Please, Hale, for me?” I didn’t know if I built enough between us for my soft tone to move him, but it worked. Hale strode toward the door, waving his arms so Ruck and Oliver would follow. They grumbled the entire way. Ruck shot me a look I couldn’t discern before closing the door.
Bram went on the defensive immediately, his arms shoved over his chest like a shield. “I ain’t sayin’ sorry. It’s a Hartlock tradition, and you—y-you—” the boy’s bottom lip quivered, and he jammed it between his teeth. I crouched before him, my skirts billowing out.
“I’m not trying to replace your mama. It sounds like she was a kind, wonderful woman who raised three fine young men. Two of those are grown, but you are still young. Would she approve of your ruffian ways? Would she be pleased you ruined a pie made with love and some expensive ingredients?”
There wasn’t any reproach in my soft words. Curiosity made me probe deeper than I ever tried with Bram. He swayed, gnawing on his bottom lip as he digested my words. His muscles quivered with long-held stubbornness, grief clutched tight and made into steel. It protected him, but it also weighed on him. My heart thumped as he jutted his chin up, intent on sparring with me. I needed to get underneath the bluster somehow.
“My mother died when I was almost an adult, but I didn’t feel like it.” I rocked back on my heels. “She was born with weak lungs, and where I lived, there was a lot of pollution. She didn’t leave me any recipes like your mother did, but she left me that teapot set.” I pointed at the shelf and the orange tea set. “Now, can I tell you a secret?”
Bram swayed forward despite himself, his bottom lip dropping out from the iron grip of his teeth. “What?”
“She never left me, not really.” I settled my hand over my heart. “She’s always here. No one can take her from me or tarnish her memory. Not when I keep it safe. I’ll never forget how it felt to be swooped up in her embrace, protected from the world.”
Bram’s dark lashes dusted his cheeks, coming away wet. He rubbed desperate fists in his eyes, mouth twisting in dwindling anger, rising shame. My heart trembled in my chest, but I made no move to comfort him.
He must come to me.
I felt like Ruck with his wild horses, noting his fatigue in the way his shoulders drooped. Bram was only a child. Despite the lean height, he still needed nurturing. But nobody in this house was soft enough to spare any warmth for the spindly child. He’d been turned out to the wind, running loose in towering grass fields and left alone to gnash his fury at the sky. I ached for the boy who’d grown up too fast. All that anger found a convenient home, raging against the symbol he thought would wipe his mama from this place.
“Mama has a nice teapot. I was never allowed to touch it. It was only for special occasions. But when she died, I put it in my room.”
I had wondered where all the traces of the previous Mrs. Hartlock went. Now I had a fair idea. They were hoarded in the small bedroom of a boy who missed his mama like a gaping wound.
“Perhaps we could use it for afternoon tea. It would look lovely next to mine, don’t you think?”
Bram scoffed under his breath, but his red-rimmed eyes brightened.
“Your pot is finer than anything in Misery Creek, even the mayor’s house.”
He quivered for a moment before shooting into me, his arms tangled around my neck. His weight rocked me backward, and I wobbled for a moment before finding my balance.
“I’m s-sorry about the s-salt.” Bram cried into my neck, his breath a desperate hot puff on my skin. His fingers clutched at my dress, and he pressed so hard I could feel his heartbeat. Like a bird fluttering against its cage for freedom. I crooned, coasting my hand through his neat locks. He smelled of fresh linen and soap. Of sunlight baked into skin.
“Shhh, it’s alright,” I comforted.
“It’s not,” he cried, “I’ve been awful, and you been sweeter than pie. Never seen Hale so turned up about a gal, not even after Claudia.”
His clutching hold pinched my lungs. Or was it the mention of another woman? I coughed, and Bram released me, his large, brown eyes filled with regret.
“Who is Claudia?” I asked. Hoping it sounded casual, but the name came out strangled like a knot of yarn forgotten at the bottom of a basket. Bram didn’t seem to notice, though, picking himself to his feet and looking at the pie with a downcast shake of his head. He scratched at the crust, eating a sliver despite himself. “Bram?”
“Oh, don’t worry. She might be an omega, but she never made Hale smile the way you have.”
A million questions crushed my mind, and I pressed my sweating palms down my skirt. Bram reached down to help me to my feet.
Hale hated omegas.
It was the reason I kept my secret about my designation. Was it a failed courtship that caused his mistrust? Was the mysterious Claudia to blame for his vitriolic hatred?
“Was she, did Hale—” my stuttered questions were cut short as the door creaked open and Hale poked his head in. He looked Bram and me over warily as Ruck and Oliver squeezed past him. They all wore a version of the same expression. Tight disapproval and barely contained frustration. I hooked my arm around Bram’s lanky shoulders, pulling him into a protective embrace. Laughable that I would intimidate three alphas, but the sharp edge of frustration in Hale faltered.
“We’ve come to an accord, haven’t we, Bram? I believe this pie did some good, and it would please me if we could put it behind us. Let us move on in the spirit of new beginnings.”
My encouraging smile was ignored as the three hulking alphas processed my request.
“I’m going to put out mama’s teapot next to Esta’s moneyed one.”
I stifled a laugh at Bram’s gauche statement, and finally, the edges of Hale’s lips tugged up. He took two urgent steps forward, catching his large hands around my waist. His scent spiked, and I was dizzy. I didn’t mind that the hot season was leaving us. The heat between us was enough to chase any creeping cold. Perpetual summer beckoned, turning my muscles into liquid light. Bram whistled out a low laugh, but I didn’t hear because Hale slid his hands to cradle my face. My breath hitched as he lowered his lips.
“This family is lucky to have you, Mrs. Hartlock.” He purred my new name, the one he gave me. I would have folded, my muscles turning watery at the glint in his hazel eyes, but his arm banded around me like a solid foundation. He closed the space between us, smothering my sharp, high-pitched inhale. Hale wasn’t my first kiss, but I wished he was. His lips were tender against mine, warm like velvet in the morning sun. My body effused with energy that I couldn’t quite name, but when he pulled away, a moan lodged itself in my throat. Hale stepped backward, and my fingers covered my lips as if I could imprint his taste on my skin. Oliver and Ruck had disappeared, and my body flushed all over. They’d witnessed such hedonistic behavior.
“They’re jealous.” Bram quipped from where he’d perched on the table, watching us with intense curiosity. Hale clicked his tongue and made to tickle Bram, but the boy was too quick. He dodged out of the way with a trill of laughter.
“Come.” Hale held out a calloused hand. “Let’s take a dip in the springs and toast to a summer well spent.”