Chapter 8 #2
“You did that on the phone before anyone even mentioned you moving up there, Starla. I’m talking about farmboy.”
“At one point, he picked me up and set me on the window ledge, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Let me assure you, he’s all man.”
“I hate your face.”
“I hate yours more. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Call me with updates, but please try to do it at a reasonable hour, okay?”
“What do you consider reasonable?”
“After ten in the morning.”
“By that time, I’ll have been working for four hours.”
“Listen, Dorothy, my life is not in Kansas, and I don’t function until after ten. It’s not my fault your life choices include ungodly hours in the middle of nowhere.”
“In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hot men, most of whom are single, even if they are a bit younger than me.”
“Men? How many are . . .”
“Have a great day, Moe! Love ya!”
I could hear her screeching as I hit the button to end the call, and I realized that even though she hadn’t said much, Moe had given me the exact pep talk I needed. And even if she hadn’t, knowing how much she hated being hung up on was enough to bring a smile to my face.
It wasn’t as big as the smile I’d worn after my blazing-hot makeout session with Sarge last night, but it would have to do. Right now, I needed to get to work. I didn’t have time to ponder if the path I desperately wanted to take–one that ended with me naked in bed with Sarge–was the right one.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t dream about it.
And that was exactly what I did through the rest of the morning until Sarge and his sons came over for lunch. Then I overthought, stressed, and daydreamed some more while I worked through my afternoon until he showed up again in time for dinner.
“This is delicious, Starla!”
“You did good, girl. I like it.”
“That’s high praise,” someone added. “She doesn’t like anyone else’s cooking.”
“I do too. I’m a huge fan of Wendy, Popeye, and the Colonel.”
“You like fast food?”
“I get it every chance I can,” Ma answered.
“Which means rarely, since she doesn’t like to go into town,” Sarge teased.
“Speaking of going into town, James is driving me in for the small business council meeting tonight, so you don’t have to,” Ma said, folding her napkin and setting it beside her plate.
“Do you want me to go? Give me just a minute . . .”
“No. I’d like Graham to use what’s left of the daylight to show you around the farm.” She looked at him. “I’ve kept her so busy she hasn’t even had a chance to see all the changes yet.”
I couldn’t imagine leaving when there was still so much to do. “I’ve got to prep for . . .”
“We’ve been on our feet and running ourselves ragged for two days. Now we both need a little time off to recharge, Starla. We’ll get back into the thick of it first thing in the morning, but tonight, you should relax.”
“Don’t argue with her! It’s not often she’s this generous.”
“He’s right. And I suggest you take off now before the B’s and F’s get here to deliver the jars to the store for sale and try to rope you into helping.”
“The B’s and F’s?” I asked.
“I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to go and let the young ones haul all that heavy shit where it needs to be.”
Ma checked her watch and smiled. “You have about five minutes.”
“But the dishes and . . .”
“I’ll help you with them when we get back. Hurry, or they’ll expect me to help them,” Sarge said as he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my chair. “Come on, Luna! Let’s go!”
“Ruckus! Go on,” Ma called. She was laughing when I looked back at her, ready to protest so I could stay and clean the kitchen, but she cut me off. “Get out of here, young lady. You’ve been working hard and need a break.”
Sarge all but shoved me into the Gator parked on the gravel track behind the house.
He ordered the dogs to jump into the back, completely ignoring the young men calling his name as they drove our way.
He cut a hard left onto the grass to avoid passing them head-on.
All I could do was grab the bar above the glove compartment as he went off-road at full speed.
We slid to a stop in front of a large red barn. “Sit here for two minutes while I grab . . .” He glanced over his shoulder. “One minute max.”
I looked past the panting dogs in the back toward the house and saw four younger men waving at us from the porch.
I giggled when Sarge took off running into the barn without even glancing back at the shouts and whistles aimed at him.
Less than a minute later, he darted back out, tossed a cooler into the back with the dogs, slid into his seat, and hit the gas.
We hopped back onto the gravel track, curving around the barn until we were out of sight before he finally slowed down and blew out a long breath. “That was a close call.”
“Why are you in such a hurry? What’s wrong with giving them a hand?”
“How many jars have you and Ma canned in the last two days?”
“Hundreds,” I answered, not even exaggerating.
Each canner held thirty pint jars, and we’d pressure-canned five full loads in all four of them at least three times–and that was just the carrots.
We’d done the same with potatoes and beans, and I had no idea how many batches of strawberry pie filling and preserves in the water-bath canners.
I gasped. “Oh my God! I think it might be closer to a thousand.”
“You ran out of jars this afternoon, didn’t you?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Because the J’s and the T’s are bringing more up from the barn this evening.”
“The what?”
“The barn, babe. It’s the big . . .”
“I know what the fucking barn is, Sarge! I’m trying to figure out why you and Ma are using the alphabet as if you’re referring to platoons of soldiers.”
“That’s a good comparison. I never thought of it that way before.”
I sighed in frustration. “Please explain.”
Sarge grinned at the look on my face. “I’ve got five brothers. The oldest is Paul, then Frank, Jack, Tom, and Bill before me, Graham.”
“I know this.”
“Do you remember their sons’ names?”
“Not a single one of them had a daughter?” When Sarge shook his head, I laughed quietly.
“Well, I remember Parker, Paxton and Jesse were closest to me in age. And, of course, your sons are Gabe, Garrison, and Grant. I think . . . hold on. Your name starts with a G, and so do all of your sons’ names. And Paul’s sons start with a P.”
“Now you get it.”
“All of you planned that?”
“Paul started it, obviously, since he was the first to have kids. It’s because of something Ma used to say when we were little.
She’d get so frustrated she’d just start spitting out names, and whoever was in the line of fire got yelled at.
I can’t even begin to count the number of times she said she was glad none of our names sounded alike, otherwise she’d never be able to yell at the right one when she needed to. ”
“So Paul named his boys Parker and Paxton.”
“Frank’s boys are Ford, Farley, and Fisher. Jack’s got Jesse, Jacoby, Jalen, and Jasper. Then there are Tavey, Travis, Tobias, Tamblyn, and Theo.”
“Oh my goodness.”
“And of course, we can’t forget the B’s–Barret, Bentley, and Braxton–which is alarmingly close to Paxton and irritates the absolute shit out of Ma.” I was laughing so hard I almost didn’t hear him add, “And then G stands for ‘the greatest.’ I have Grant, Gabe, and Garrison.”
“All of you named your children with the same initials just to irritate your mother?”
“Yes. Yes, we did,” Sarge said with a slow nod. “Of course, she got the last laugh. Now she doesn’t have to refer to them as Paul’s kids or Bill’s kids–she just calls them the P’s and the B’s, or whichever letter applies.”
“Your family dynamic is so special and hilarious at the same time.”
Sarge reached into the cooler and looked at me with concern. “Are you sober or . . .?”
“Luckily, I never developed a drug or alcohol problem. That was never my issue, but I can only imagine how much worse my life would have been if I’d had to battle that on top of everything else.”
“Okay, good. Because I am of the mind that after a long day of work, it’s nice to sit and listen to the night settle over the farm with a cold beer in hand.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
Sarge pulled out a bottle, twisted off the top, and handed it to me before grabbing one for himself.
I took a sip and closed my eyes with a sigh.
I wasn’t much of a drinker, but the first sip of an ice-cold beer after a long day was something I could appreciate.
I took another drink as Graham took his first. His reaction mirrored mine, and he smiled.
“Did that hit the spot?”
“Absolutely. I’ll enjoy this while you give me a tour. What part are you going to show me first?”
“Depends on how long you want to stay out.”
“How much beer did you bring?”
“Six or eight.”
“That long.”