Chapter 7 Pane
Pane
When Sunbeam tugs open the door, I don’t expect my heart to jump. But it doesn’t just jump—it catapults into a different dimension. I frown, pushing the fluttering organ and tidal wave of feelings away, and remind myself of a few simple facts.
Sunbeam is a distraction. Sunbeam is a fortune hunter. Sunbeam is nothing more than a business venture.
But my heart must not get the message, because one look at her nearly knocks me back. Her hair is out of its earlier braid and now cascades in waves over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her breasts are high and round as she inhales deeply.
And the way she smells—wildflowers on a cloudless day. I cannot get enough of her scent.
She thrusts a finger at me and slurs, “Listen, you, I’ve had just about enough of—”
And then she stops. Leans forward. Squints. Her gaze picks me apart, starting at my face and then darting down to my dress shoes. She takes her time coming back up for air, lingering on my thighs, my chest, my eyes.
I take the moment to memorize her face. Just so that I can describe her to my sister, obviously. Not for any other reason.
Freckles constellate her cheeks and nose. Her face is scrubbed clean, and she looks like she should be picking daisies in a field instead of being cooped up in a house.
Even though I’ve got my script down pat, now that she’s staring at me with those doe-brown eyes that resemble polished wood, shooting me a look that suggests she can either take me or leave me—mostly leave me—the outer layer of iron that I’ve built up around me starts to crumble.
Like hell it will. I’ve got a job to do, an empire to win, and I’m not going to let this woman get under my skin.
“Hello.” I give her my handsomest smile, the one that melts hearts. “My name is Pane Maddox, and I’m here to save your farm.”
She laughs, and the scent of tequila smacks me in the face. It doesn’t quite mesh with the whole wildflower vibe she’s got going on. “What are you talking about, save my farm?”
“Exactly that. Your front signage is old and faded. No one’s visited the place in years.” Probably. It’s a guess, but a decent one. “Your business needs help.”
Sunbeam slumps against the doorframe. “Why would you help me? You couldn’t get out of here fast enough this morning.” She jabs a finger in my chest, then drops her gaze to said finger and pokes me again. “Are you wearing armor?”
She’s definitely drunk.
Switching focus away from my chest, she snarls, “I offered clothes when yours were ruined, and they weren’t good enough.
And look what you’re wearing now—jeans and a shirt.
Oh, how the mighty suit man has fallen. How’d you get those?
By stumbling into the one Hugo Boss store in Atlanta and snagging them? ”
My blood churns in irritation. I’m here to do her a favor, and she’s insulting me?
“This morning I was running late for an appointment, and I couldn’t have shown up in jeans or overalls.
Not that it’s any of your business, seeing as how you’re a complete stranger—a stranger whose piggycorns I had to get across the road. Which you barely thanked me for.”
She steps forward and peers up into my eyes, silently challenging me. “May I remind you that you almost killed me?”
I take another step and now we’re nose to nose. “Almost isn’t the same as doing.”
The closeness of our bodies seems to charge the air. The humidity thickens, and the hairs on my arms prickle to attention. Sunbeam must feel it, too, because she shivers and retreats a step.
“And what sort of appointment were you late for?” she asks, flicking her hand in dismissal.
“I was meeting my mother.”
“In a suit?”
“In a suit.”
“What kind of mother makes her son meet her in a suit?”
“Mine. Listen”—this conversation is incredibly exasperating—“I can tell you everything if you’ll let me come inside.”
“Let a complete stranger into my home?” She scoffs. “The sun’s setting. You might have a gun. You might want to rob me. Yes, you looked wealthy this morning, but you could be a grifter. That suit could have been stolen. You might even be after the silver.”
“Do you have any silver?”
“No,” she says, swaying. “Wait. That’s not your business.”
I lift my arms, gesturing toward the farm. “I’m a thief, and I’ve picked your house to rob? Not the home across the road with the unicorns?”
She smacks her palm against my chest to punctuate each word. “That’s. Right.”
Oh. My. God. I rake a hand roughly through my hair. “Look, I’m not a thief. My family owns a line of hotels. You can look me up. Surely you’ve heard of the Maddox Hotel. It’s famous.”
“I don’t know.” She sucks her teeth and puts on a hard Southern accent. “Us country bumpkins don’t know nothing about you big city slickers. We ain’t got ’nough sense to use that there internet.”
There she is, getting amusing again. Smarting off with a mouth that’s just begging to be tamed. I scratch my temple, unable to keep the wry smile from my lips. “Somehow I think you’ve got plenty of sense.”
“Listen . . .” Fire dances in her eyes. “I’ve had a hell of a day, and the last thing I need is you pulling a practical joke.
Did someone set you up to this? Let me guess, my not-so-nice neighbors.
Did they follow you out of town, tell you that they’d pay you to pretend to help me? Are they watching this whole thing?”
Where in the hell has she jumped to now? Fairyland? “What?”
She clasps her hands and presses them to her chest before batting her eyes like a damsel in distress.
“Don’t tell me—you’re here to be my knight in shining armor.
Wow. Thank you so much. You’re everything that I’ve always wanted—tall, with a complexion that probably turns golden in the sun, and handsome.
And rich, you say? Wow. Please, help me, sir. ”
She drops to her knees and tugs on my pants. I would stop her, but it’s way too tempting to see where this might go. Not to mention, she’s in the perfect position to unzip my jeans.
“Please,” she mock-begs. “You are the miracle we’ve been waiting for. Now the farm won’t go into foreclosure because, what? You’re going to buy it? Of course you are!”
She throws her hands up and rises, glaring at me. “I know your grand plan. You buy my farm and then turn around and sell it to Luke and Sally Ray.” She jerks toward the road and yells, “Your plan isn’t going to work, Sally! You’ll have to pry my dead body off the floor to get my property!”
This is . . . more than I was planning for. “Listen, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”
She whirls on me, all wide-eyed, her words slurring just enough so that I know she’s at least three drinks in. She’s small. It wouldn’t take a lot to get her tipsy.
She waves a finger around. “There’s been no misunderstanding, Mr. Richie Rich. You can get the hell out of here. I can smell a setup when I see one.”
A piggycorn peeks out from behind the door.
The door.
Which means the swine is inside the house. Of course it is. Who am I kidding? She probably hides piggycorns in her back pocket.
The swine wiggles through the gap and another one pops up behind it, taking its place. That one wriggles through the space, and suddenly a dozen piggycorns are charging toward me, running at full speed.
The horde slips and slides over the planks, their hooves scrabbling for purchase. The first comes to a stop by sliding into the toe of my shoe. Behind it, one after the other, each pig skates into the one in front of it, coming to rest on their rumps until there’s a pile of piggycorns at my feet.
“Y’all!” Sunbeam shrieks. “Get off him!”
A dozen piggycorns gaze up at me. Tongues loll from mouths. Eyes blink. Tails wag.
The woman’s gaze drops down, and she says, “Go back inside, y’all. I’ll only be a minute.”
When the swine don’t move, she taps her foot impatiently.
That’s when a tree branch shoots out from nowhere, scoops up the piggies like a giant hand, and deposits them inside.
I jump back. “Whoa.”
Did I just see what I thought I did?
Maybe there is something to this whole “ley line” thing.
Awe fills my voice. “The land around here is magical.”
“Yeah. And if you’re not careful, it’ll get you,” Sunbeam threatens.
If the land is as scary as her—and she’s about as terrifying as a kitten with tiny claws—I’ll be just fine.
She wags a finger at the tree, which has now pulled its branch back in so that it looks normal again.
“Where were you today when I needed you to stop Luke?” Before it can answer—do they do that here?
—Sunbeam lifts her hand in a stopping motion.
“Forget it.” Then she turns back to me. “I don’t know why you’re still here. Go home.”
“I’m not leaving until I have an answer.”
“About what?”
I extend a hand. “I want to help your business.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“I don’t know anyone named Sally. She didn’t send me.”
“That’s exactly what a spy would say. Listen, spy . . .” She cranes her neck and comes in very close, tapping my chest with all the confidence tequila can give a person who doesn’t know who I am. “Get off my land before I pull out my shotgun.”
Things weren’t supposed to go like this. She was supposed to smile prettily and say, Of course you can help me. Wow! Where did I get such luck that one of the most famous families in the country would want to help me? This must be a dream!
But for some reason none of that has happened, and my patience is gone.
I smile tightly. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m here to save your farm. Can we discuss that?”
She sucks in her cheeks, shoots me a hard look, and says, “No.”
Then she slams the door in my face.