Chapter 20 #2
“I would love to see it.” It’s the plain truth.
I want to know what made this man who he is.
My armor is thick. Reaching deep into my core and finding softness is a difficult and treacherous dig.
For Brody, I think his hard exterior and cocky arrogance are only surface deep.
The true core of him is something much softer.
No, stickier. He’s a nurturer, a put-others-firster.
But I doubt anyone ever gets that far, only seeing the asshole he portrays so well.
He steps over the dog, who’s gone back to sleep by the front door.
“That’s Murphy, Brutal’s dog. ‘Bout the only thing he’s good for is cleaning up under the kitchen table when Cooper doesn’t like his vegetables.
” He chuckles a little at that, and I remember his telling me about their cornhole tournament championship, which Cooper won, as expected.
I tell the soundly sleeping dog hello as we walk outside. In my mind, I promise him my vegetables too.
“Come on. Goats first. They’re always everyone’s favorite.”
We walk across the yard-slash-driveway area toward a metal barn.
Brody pulls the door open and leads me through to a fenced-in pen.
I almost immediately have to plant my feet so I’m not knocked down by the herd of animals swarming me.
“Hi!” My voice is high-pitched, tight with excitement. “Holy shit! Cowboy, look!”
A black and brown spotted goat is trying to climb my leg, jump into my arms, and otherwise love me unconditionally. Or at least only conditional on petting her. I bend down a little, scratching behind her ears.
“That’s Baarbara. She’s mostly friendly, most of the time. Well, occasionally—NO! Don’t let her get your ponytail! She’ll chew the ends right off!”
I shake my head and feel a little tug as Baarbara loses her tasty snack.
A twist of my ponytail puts my hair up into a bun at my nape and out of nibbling range.
I hope. Brody moves close, fingering the ends of my hair in a move that feels ridiculously intimate.
The air charges between us, and for a moment, I’m certain he’s going to kiss me.
“These are Shay’s goats. She uses their milk to make her soaps,” Brody says, cracking the tension and stepping away as another wave of attack-goats approaches.
He goes on to tell me how she started small, selling at the farmers market where I met her the first time, and later, expanding into the operation she has now with a website, international shipping, resort orders, and specialty holiday scents.
“She did the same thing with her canning and baking stuff. Started out with just smashed pumpkin puree in the fall, but now she has a rotation of items she makes each season. She’s always looking for new recipes and her, Brutal, and Bobby figure out what they can plant and when it’ll be ready so she can start advertising.
She’s turned into quite the entrepreneur. ”
The pride he feels at his sister’s success is obvious and vaguely parental. “I haven’t tried her soaps, but if they’re anything like the jelly or the cake I had, they’re amazing. I’ll definitely have to stock up at the next farmers market.”
Brody nods, humming under his breath. He does this sometimes when he’s thinking or figuring out how to say something.
Every word out of his mouth is deliberate and intentional, nearly the opposite of my tendency to pop off.
I breathe and let him speak when he’s ready without jumping in to start the conversation, whatever it is.
He picks up a small baby goat and my ovaries nearly explode.
I have no desire for kids, not yet, anyway, but a hungover-vulnerable Brody gently holding a tiny animal, spindly legs dangling over his forearm, is about the cutest-slash-sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and instantly makes me think of Brody as a father.
He’d be an excellent one—by all reports, he raised Shayanne pretty damn well.
Finally, he speaks low and slow, like he’s scared I’m going to go nuclear again. “Can I explain?” I nod, still not sure where he’s going but readying myself for just about anything. “Shay is why I said you should talk to your dad about racing.”
I open my mouth to argue, and he lifts one brow to glare at me from under his hat. Slowly, I shut my mouth for once. It’s harder than it should be.
“Thank you.” He acknowledges how hard that was for me.
“We grew up happy, and Mom and Dad were good together. But when she died, Dad was gutted and never right again. I picked up the slack and took as much of his anger as I could, but he was . . .” He pauses, looking for the word.
“Stuck, I guess? After that, Dad would never let Shay grow. He kept her small, though I don’t think he meant to.
She was just a kid to him, to me, to all of us.
She still is sometimes, though these days, she won’t let us forget that she’s not.
But she’s just so damn good. I wish Dad had seen her succeed, not for his sake because fuck him, but for hers.
For the longest time, she had a soft spot for Dad, and it would’ve meant the world to her to prove herself to him.
” He’s quiet, scratching behind the goat’s ears and seemingly lost in the past.
“That’s why I said what I said. I think it would mean something to you to show your dad what an amazing mechanic you are, especially with all the custom shit you’re doing.
It’s your art, and I can see how it’s wearing on you to hold back a part of yourself from everyone.
That’s all I meant, but it’s your call. Always.
” He sets the goat down, dark eyes focused on me, imploring me to understand that his heart was in the right place.
Words fail me, so I strut right up to him and grab a handful of his shirt, pulling him down to me. He comes willingly, our lips crashing together. I apologize again without words, make promises across our shared breath, and taste his good intentions upon his tongue.
When we need to stop for air, and so that we can assume a more natural posture, with me not on my tippy toes and Brody bent and hunched over, I ask him for more even though he’s given so much.
“Reed said this was Tannen Farm, and that’s what the sign said too, but you work for the Bennetts. How does that happen?”
He sighs deeply, and I know this isn’t going to be a happy story.
My heart is already cracking for him because however it happened, he lost the one thing he told me he wanted.
A ranch of his own. “I said Dad didn’t take losing Mom well, but it was more than that.
I don’t think he ever had a happy day without her.
That was when I took over around here—the house, the farm, the kids.
Well, technically, Shayanne was the only kid, but really, we all were young fuckers who grew up fast. And I was doing it, handling it all until Dad died too.
He owed money to some unforgiving people and we had to sell the farm to pay them off.
We didn’t have many, or any, options, and the Bennetts saved us by buying the farm and promising us a chance to buy it back if they ever sell.
We basically do what we always did, but Mark gets all the profits and credit.
” A smile as he says that part lets me know that while it’s not his dream, he’s mostly good with how things are.
That’s important to me. Not whether he owns his own ranch or has a five, ten, and fifteen-year plan. I do, but not everyone thinks the way I do. And that’s okay.
Besides, my plan is sort of weird. Like don’t get arrested—again—and don’t tell Dad about racing and building racecars. Not exactly mature, exacting, progressive-thinking standards. And maybe not the best plan anyway, if I listen to Brody.
So maybe his version of being grateful for where you are at the moment is something I can learn from.
“I’m sorry. If I could fix it for you, I would.
” I’ve never meant it more. I would do just about anything for Brody to get this back, and one of the things I do best is fix things.
But this isn’t something I can fix with a torque wrench.
Mechanics don’t have magic wands in our toolkits, and I don’t have a way to just wave my hand and make Brody happier.
Brody shrugs as though he’s already made his peace with the shitty situation.
“I lived a lifetime of stress in under a decade. It’s nice to not worry for a bit, like a working vacation.
I do what I know, what I love, without worrying if the bank is gonna foreclose or whether we’ll have enough money to keep the heat on through the winter.
I want the responsibility back, and yes, I’m going to work my ass off to get it.
” He looks at me from beneath the brim of his cap, reminding me of the painful words I threw at him.
“And when I do have it all back, it’ll be because I earned it . . . each and every inch of dirt.”
“Would it make you mad if I said your dad sucks? I mean, I know I’ve got some pretty significant Daddy issues happening over here, but .
. .” I’m teasing, a little. But hearing Brody talk about his dad’s relationship with Shay and Brody’s struggles to be an adult at a time when he should’ve still had a soft place to land makes me sad for him.
Brody huffs a laugh, a small smile cracking. “Nah, he was all right, just broken. I don’t forgive him for everything, but I’m not casting stones too much anymore. Just on occasion, when it feels warranted.” He takes a deep breath, seeming more settled than a moment ago.
“Will you show me some more?” I’ll take whatever he wants to show me—his heart, his body, his soul, his farm. Though I suspect those last two are one and the same.