Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cruz
I leave the tractor with the sickle mower at the edge of the field between my house and Lane’s. He’s going to finish, but I have to get to the distillery for the baby shower.
Jamison Hennessy wanted all her friends and immediate family invited to the baby shower for her and Iverson’s son, Tavis. That means all the guys at the distillery outside of her husband, her sisters, and her parents. Elodie and Clem were invited too.
So I’m making sure I’m there.
I stride across the yard to my house, fighting a hard-on the whole way. Every time I think about Elodie and the way she responded to my kiss, I get lightheaded. Blood leaves my brain immediately upon remembering the way she ground against my rock-hard dick.
The woman scrambled my brains with nothing but a kiss.
I made the damn thing count though. Best kiss of my life.
I puff out a sigh of relief when I enter my air-conditioned house. After running through the shower, I dress in a blue Dee’s Sweets shirt with a clean pair of jeans. It’s been three days since I’ve seen her, and I’ve wanted to text her, call her, and stop by. But friends aren’t smothering.
Friends give friends space. And nearly come in their pants from a kiss.
There’s also her reaction after what I said—I never stuck around to find out.
I said my piece and left. I can talk about forgiveness, but what if she doesn’t want to date a guy who has a juvie record?
I’ve made a lot of changes, and I’ve worked hard, but there’s still lingering insecurity that it won’t be enough to erase the little shit I used to be.
I get in my pickup and drive to Foster House. Only Durban, Campbell, and Haven are there. Lane will clean up after he finishes the cutting and Iverson will arrive with Jamison and his kids.
Inside the tasting room, that punch of pride hits me. I helped design the interior, from the types of tables and chairs to the stone under the windows, to bring out that industrial aesthetic. When I stand inside, I feel like I went from the gutter to the penthouse.
I’m never going back there. I’ll never be that guy again, using my size to intimidate others. I’m better than I was raised, and I’m a fuckton better than my dad. I might’ve spent a night in jail, but not the rest of my life.
Durban’s behind the bar, digging out glasses and lining up bottles. At the end of the counter is a line of juice and water. Campbell’s pushing two tables together by the wall, a bowl with pretzels on one.
“What can I help with?” I ask.
Campbell steals a pretzel and hip bumps a table the last inch, her summer dress swirling around the tips of her boots. “Decorations.”
For the next hour, I hang banners and spread out tiny candy pacifiers, line up baby bottles for Durban to fill with virgin mimosas, and tape balloons around the room.
By the time we’re done, the trendy tasting room is transformed into baby shower headquarters.
Lane and I are pros at these after all the Bailey babies born over the last fifteen years.
Haven pops in from the main distillery, where he was checking on the tanks and recording temperatures and pressures.
Then Jamison and Campbell’s other sister, Avery, shows up with her partner, Thea.
Both are walking catalogues for athleisure wear.
They look equally ready for a daylong brunch or a hike.
Jamison, Avery, and Campbell’s parents arrive next, the picture of lifelong ranchers. Their clothing is nice but sturdy and worn enough to suggest that they don’t just oversee the ranch, they’re hands-on.
Staff from the ranch start arriving. I’ve met Chef Cecil, but Durban introduces me to his wife. Then the guest ranch foreman and several housekeepers arrive, Chef’s sous-chef, and some of the guys the Hennessys worked with.
A chorus of cheers goes up when Iverson and his family arrive.
The tasting room is full of people, and the sounds of talking and laughter bounce off the walls.
I make small talk with everyone, but my gaze continuously strays out the window.
Clem isn’t here yet, so I’m not giving up hope that Elodie’s going to show.
Several more minutes tick by and my disappointment grows.
Clem pulls into the parking lot and my hope surges. I search for Elodie, but Clem’s alone. Fuck.
After half an hour, I step out of the tasting room and into the merch store. The door shuts behind me, muffling the noise. Will I ever quit screwing up with Elodie? She let me close to her as a friend and then I shoved my tongue down her throat and pushed my erection into her.
I shove my hand through my hair just as Lane lets himself into the main entrance of the place. His still-damp hair is shiny and combed to the side, and unlike the rest of us, he’s wearing his nicer jeans and a dressier shirt.
His brows rise when he sees me. “What’s up?”
I prop my hands on my hips. “Nothing. Just taking a breather.”
His gaze jumps to the full tasting room and back. “Lot of people.”
“Yep.”
“That doesn’t usually bother you.”
No. It never has. “Elodie’s not here. I kissed her the other night.”
As much as I’d like to keep my continued rejection to myself, it’s always helped to talk to Lane. It’s like he came through that entrance because he knew I’d be here, handling my emotions so I wouldn’t ask, Where’s Elodie? to everyone who talks to me.
Awareness fills his eyes. “That doesn’t usually bother you either.”
I’ve kissed plenty of women. Had my share of sex. None of them has stuck in my head. If they wanted more and I didn’t, I moved on. If they didn’t want more, I moved on because ultimately, I never did either.
This time I do. I want it all. “We went on a couple of dates, then she got spooked. I convinced her we could be friends, but then I kissed her.”
His brows draw together like he’s reading into the definition of that kiss and that it was no mere peck. “She pushed you away?”
“Not really, but I haven’t talked to her since then, and she hasn’t tried reaching out to me. I stepped over the line.”
“Or life just happened. She runs her own business. Things come up. We know that.”
Clem pushes into the merch store. “Hey, bosses. I’m taking off. Just wanted to say bye before I relieve my sister.”
“Relieve her for what?” I ask so suddenly, Clem blinks.
“She took my dad to an eye doctor appointment in Billings. Mom had a bout of vertigo and couldn’t go with him.
Elodie said she would take him while I came to the party.
I told her to text when she got to town, and I’d go hang with them.
” She points to her eyes. “He got his pupils dilated, and his vision stays blurry for a while. I’m going to make them dinner, and Elodie can come here. ”
“Let us know if we can do anything,” Lane says.
Clem cocks her head toward the gathering. “Jamison told me to take them some cake, but Elodie keeps our parents stocked in goodies. She’s probably getting dinner in the oven even though I said I’d make them something. I’d better get going.”
“Nice seeing you, Clem,” I say, even more excited that Elodie’s arriving soon.
When she’s gone, Lane studies me. “I don’t have to ask if you’re taking off. I doubt we could haul you away before Elodie shows.”
I shoot him a scowl. “I really like her.”
“I can tell.”
“She won’t talk about what’s going on, but I think someone’s hounding her for money.”
“She in debt?”
Sure, she could be, but my gut says what she owes is out of the ordinary. “I saw a letter in her mail from a correctional facility in Colorado.”
His nostrils flare. “Interesting.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Dad called me last week.”
I stiffen and clench my teeth like usual when I hear about him. “You talked to him.”
I’m not asking. He always does. For the kid who was left with a lot of tasks our parents should’ve handled, he doesn’t carry the grudge against our father that I do.
He rubs his chin. “Things are the same for him. Won’t be seeing him soon.”
“Next time, tell him he can save his ink and quit writing me.”
“He won’t. Stubborn bastard.”
“Yeah.” He’s the reason why I found the letter at Elodie’s so damn interesting. And why I wish she’d talk to me, to someone, but mostly me. I might understand in a way not many others would.
Elodie has me all twisted up. My thoughts are very not friendly when it comes to her, but I want to help, and I can’t do that if she keeps beyond arm’s length. “She doesn’t trust me.”
“Then try being a friend who doesn’t grope her.” Lane keeps up with my subject change. He’s used to it when it comes to our dad.
“I wasn’t groping.” Fondling, maybe. Licking and sucking. She was grinding.
He shrugs. “Never seen you like this, but you’ve gotta play the long game if she’s skittish. For what it’s worth—your little baker wants to be more than friends with you.”
“She might, but she’s decided not to.”
“You fluster her like no one else. And when you’re not looking at her, she’s spying on you. It’s like watching two middle schoolers figure out what flirting is.”
“Ha ha, jackass. This isn’t easy.”
“Good. You’ve worked for all the good things in life. Elodie’s no different.”
Isn’t he a sage old asshole? I don’t feel better after our talk, but I could’ve used it earlier. I should’ve taken my own advice and turned to Lane instead of spinning myself in circles all night in bed.
I search for a topic that won’t twist me in knots, or make me feel like that dirty little kid people loved to hate. “What took you so long to finish cutting?”
“I stopped by Langley’s place. He was burning his garbage.”
“Goddammit.” The last time our neighbor burned his trash, he added way too much of everything and then passed out.
Lane nods. “Damn flames were jumping his firepit and he was passed out next to it.”
My stomach clenches. When we bought land from Hutch Langley, we were warned he’d only drink the profits away.
People said he’d be a bad neighbor and that his irresponsible ways had cost him his kids when they were young.
Langley has no visitors, and his remorse is eating up whatever life he’s got left.
I don’t have the tolerance for him that Lane does.
I try to be a bigger person, but I just see a guy who’s so lost in himself that he doesn’t have room to care about others.
The past rears up and I’m eight again, asking Mom when she’ll get out of bed and feed us.
I’ve already watched one adult destroy themselves with some form of addiction. It’s hard to do it again.
At least Langley reminds me more of our mom than our explosive, narcissistic dad. Otherwise, I would’ve insisted we buy land on the other side of town.
As for being a neighbor, Lane and I take turns stopping in to check on him.
I do it only because I don’t want him falling asleep with a cigarette and lighting up his whole place, causing a fire that could spread to our property.
Lane does it out of the same sense of responsibility that didn’t leave my petulant ass in the dust.
Lane runs his fingers under his collar. “I called the vet. She’ll be out to check his gelding in the morning. And I fed his chickens since I was close.”
That’s the other reason we both won’t steer clear of our neighbor.
His animals shouldn’t suffer because of him.
Sometimes that means feeding the chickens he keeps for eggs that he sells for beer money.
Or under-the-table vet care for his horses.
The local vets know the drill, and Hutch might get cranky about it, but he waves us off and toddles inside rather than argue about a hoof abscess that needs draining.
Besides, he can still do some farming, growing wheat for the distillery. We’re taking a hell of a gamble doing any business with him, but Lane insisted and the Hennessys don’t mind. Langley was a friend of their dad’s.
The old man accepts help a whole lot better than a certain pretty baker.
Over Lane’s shoulder, Elodie pulls into the lot.
“Let’s go in and get some cake,” I say, already opening the door.
He flashes me a perplexed look before he sees Elodie scurrying across the lot with a gift bag. “I see. Ditching me for your friend.”
“Yup.”