Chapter 11 #3
Shay’s brows climb. “That you even ask tells me something about you, Willow. You think Bobby has a chance against Brutal? Hell no, but I like that you’re on his side anyway.”
I let that sink in.
“Tell me about you,” Shay orders. “What’s your damage? And don’t say nothing, because we all have something, and you showed up here out of the blue, making all the tongues wag.”
Those are two separate questions with very different answers.
I actually grew up pretty fortunate with Mom and Dad, and even Oakley, something I didn’t know to be thankful for until I saw that other people didn’t have it quite so well.
But as for why I came? I’m not willing to answer that.
It’s not my place, so I stick with my standard answer, even though it’s hard to do so when Shay is giving me so much more insight to Bobby and the Tannens.
“Nothing, really. I’m just a regular girl who needed a break.
A fresh start somewhere, but not too fresh, you know what I mean?
I figured I knew someone here, at least.”
“Hank,” Shay fills in for me. “Is it true you hadn’t seen him in years when you showed up?”
I nod. “Yeah, since I was fourteen. Seemed about time to lay old bones to rest.”
Before she can ask me anything else, a whining noise fills the air and the goats get up to check it out.
“Damn, that was faster than I thought. Bobby’s coming,” she tells me right as another Gator comes over the hill. It nearly catches air on the bumpy, grassy surface before sliding to a stop.
Bobby gets out, striding straight toward me. Automatically, I rise, setting Trollie down, which he argues about loudly. Baaaaaa!
Bobby doesn’t go for the gate. No, he hops right over the pen fencing, making the shortest distance between point A, that’d be him, and point B, that’d be me, his direct route.
“I didn’t get a chance to do this,” he murmurs right before his hands cup my cheeks and tilt my face up.
Then his mouth covers mine, kissing me passionately.
He smells like sweat and fresh dirt, and .
. . man. He tastes like . . . intensity and mint, like he knew exactly what he was going to do when he saw me and prepped for it.
Unnecessary—I’d kiss him even if his breath were as bad as Trollie’s—but the intent is sweet.
A throat clears behind him and one of his hands leaves my face. I crack one eye open to find him flipping Brutal a middle finger, all the while giving me one of the best kisses of my life.
“Hi,” I say breathlessly when he lets me go.
“Hi,” he answers, smiling. “Whatcha doing?”
I blink, trying to clear my head so that I can form a complete sentence. Or even a two-syllable word would be good right now.
“Uh, goats. Pet. Soft. Pictures. Cute.” It’s all I’ve got, but it gets my message across.
His grin turns cocky, and he slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. I fit there like the space was carved out just for me. “With your camera over there?” He points with his other hand to my camera bag outside the pen in the grass.
I realize I truly haven’t taken any pictures.
Shay took the ones of me, but those aren’t bloggable, and I would love some cute animal pictures.
One, it’s a unique subject for me, which is always an exciting challenge, and two, I do think they’ll be a blog favorite.
Who’s not going to ‘heart’ an adorable goat?
And that’s when I have an even better idea.
I grab my camera, checking the sky and adjusting my settings. “Let me get a few shots here.”
I take some close-ups of horns, eyes, hooves. Click, click, click.
I take some broader shots of the herd, the blending of their colors and the lines of their curved backs. Click, click, click.
“Bobby, can you pick that one up?” I point to the goat currently weaving its way through his legs like a house cat that wants to be pet.
“Why?” he asks cautiously.
I shoot him a soft smile, and though he grumbles a bit, he bends down and picks up the goat, its legs dangling over his arms.
“I’ll do a close-up so no one can tell it’s you. You don’t mind being on the blog, do you?”
Let me take this picture, please.
My ovaries are literally exploding like Fourth of July fireworks right now.
He looks that good. Dirty jeans with a tear by his right hip that lets the pocket show, veins popping in his muscled forearms and biceps bulging, jaw tight, eyes dark and promising me anything my heart and body desire, all topped off with the utter cuteness of the baby goat.
It’s easy to replace the cute animal with a baby in my mind, and the thought of Bobby’s baby, of him as a dad, is sexy as hell.
And not in a Daddy fetish sort of way—yes, I saw that video too—but as an actual father.
He’d be good at it, protective, loving, firm, sweet.
Boom. Pop. Hiss. Yep, there go my ovaries.
“Anything you want, Willow,” Bobby answers, turning a bit toward me so I can get a better angle.
Click. Click. Click.
Soon, I move to wide angle frames, getting all of Bobby and all of the goats. These are for me, I promise. Not the blog, I think possessively, taking a page from Bobby’s book.
“Look at you, Nashville. Show us how you model. Give me a Zoolander Blue Steel look,” Brutal barks out, laughing before he can even get the insult out.
I spin, capturing that too.
“Hey, I didn’t agree to shit,” Brutal tells me, sobering in an instant.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, dropping the camera down to make eye contact.
“It’s fine,” Bobby interjects. “Tell her it’s fine. She can take pictures of anything or anyone she wants to.”
“No, really, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Shayanne whistles loudly. “Hey, Brutal, know what would probably get Allyson all hot and bothered?”
Quick as a blink, he deadpans, “Me.” For a scary motherfucker, the guy’s got jokes. I think he’s joking, at least. Sort of.
“Exactly. Hey, Willow, think you could send Allyson that picture? Brutal needs all the help he can get to get laid.” The insult is harsh, as intended, and given Brutal’s growl and Bobby’s howl of laughter, it’s completely untrue.
“Sure. I can do that.” I laugh along with them, and any tension is broken.
Before long, I’m taking pictures of all three of them—holding goats, standing alone, standing together, sitting in the Gator, and more, and they’re really getting into it, posing and pulling faces.
Mostly, I let them interact with each other, not directing them at all so I get real, candid shots. Those are the moments of true beauty. Unfiltered, unaltered moments of heartfelt connection, even if it’s couched in giving each other a hard time.
When Shay decides that climbing on the roof of the Gator is a good idea, despite the loud protests of both of her brothers, I take a shot while lying on the ground so it will have the added effect of a cool perspective.
Even through the lens, I can tell that Shayanne looks powerful, invincible, ready to take the world by storm, which fits what Bobby has told me about her.
The second shot I take of that moment includes both guys standing at the ready to catch her and watching her closely.
The affection is obvious and shines brightly.
“Oh, my phone,” Shay says, jumping from the roof of the Gator as if the five feet are no big deal. Pulling it out of her pocket, she grins that evil smile again before looking at Bobby. “Mama Louise says it’s time for us all to wash up for dinner.”
“Oh, I’ll go then,” I offer, not wanting to intrude any more than I already have. I’m sure Bobby and Brutal had chores to do today, but they’ve spent the last hour goofing off with me. It’s been fun and I’ve gotten some amazing pictures, but I know their family dinners are pretty sacrosanct.
Bobby stops me with a growl and his arms around my waist. “The fuck? She said ‘us all’. That means Mama Louise is expecting you at dinner too. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now that I have you here, I might never let you go.
” He sounds serious, and rather than being scared at becoming his pseudo-hostage, my whole body lights up like fireworks again.
He wants me here as much as I want to be here.
While I’m playing through mental images of never leaving his side, he keeps talking, trying to sell me on the idea of staying.
“The last person you want to disappoint is Mama Louise. You also don’t refuse her food. She’s the best.”
“I thought Ilene was the best,” I tease.
“So does she,” Bobby says sadly, shaking his head like Ilene is delusional and everyone just goes along with it. I’ve had Ilene’s food, though, and it’s delicious. But if Mama Louise can top it, I’m in. Hell, I’m in if only to meet the woman he says rescued his family.