Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Elodie
My hands twitch and a little moan slips out before I come fully wake. A hard shoulder is under my cheekbone, and there’s a knot in my neck. I lift my head and groan. It’s Monday morning, but I’m not in my bed, and I’m definitely not in the bakery.
“Let me get that for you.” It’s Cruz I fell asleep on. He covers the back of my neck with his warm hand and massages. This man can work his magic in all sorts of ways. I let my eyelids drift shut.
The smell of a sanitized environment surrounds me, and the lights above us shine bright through my eyelids. Mom’s in the Billings ER, and Dad is sleeping on an ungodly uncomfortable chair next to her.
I was with them long enough to get an update, then I came out to the waiting room with Cruz. Mom’s supposed to get discharged soon, and instead of having Clem miss work to pick us up, Cruz said he had no issues bringing us home.
A pressure swells in my chest, pushing out and filling all the nooks and crannies. He didn’t want me to scam a free drink for him. He acted as if my past experience wasn’t my fault. And he didn’t leave me when I couldn’t sleep with him, again.
Last night was a whirlwind. I fielded calls from Clem.
Mom’s head hurt and I didn’t get much time to talk to her before the doctor stopped in.
Dad kept me posted about what was going on.
Blood draws, CAT scans, pain meds, and then waiting.
Cruz has been by my side through it all, getting me water, snacks, and shoulder rubs.
I should be worried about how much time I’m out for work, but I can’t. I’m grateful I could be there for Mom, and even gladder Cruz is with me.
“Can I get you something to eat?” he asks.
I rub my eyes. A raccoon could beat me in a Who Wore It Better contest. Before Cruz and I left the bakery, I changed into a loose shirt and shorts, but I still have my platform espadrilles on. I have to look ridiculous.
I let out a dry laugh. When he looks at me, eyes full of questions, I shake my head. “You’re offering to buy me a meal, and I look like hell.”
“Are you running a pity con on me?” He smiles as he asks, and he speaks softly so no one else can hear.
How am I at the point that I can talk about this part of my life so glibly with someone? “Most definitely, but I feel like it’s too much work for too little payout.”
“Pretty bold of you to get your parents in on the scam.”
Another chuckle spills out of me. “My bad. I’ll work solo next time.”
He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “I’ll go find a breakfast burrito or something. I can get something for your dad if you want to run one to him.”
A message buzzes through on my phone.
Dad: We’re almost out of here. Mom’s hungry. Can you grab her some food?
I show Cruz the text.
He stands. “Four breakfast burritos coming up. Coffee?”
“Yes, please. That’s probably half of Mom’s headache if she still has one.”
I watch his denim-clad ass when he walks away. He’s hardly slept and his swagger makes it look like he’s ready to go out and do hours of chores. That man has not given up on me, and I’m so glad I wasn’t alone all night.
While waiting, I finger-comb my hair and twist it into a loose braid. By the time Cruz returns with a bag of food and a carrier full of coffees, my mom is getting wheeled out by my dad. A nurse walks next to them.
“I’ll get the chariot.” Cruz winks at my mom. Her smile is wan, but appreciation shines in her eyes.
The warm pressure is back in my chest, filling every niche possible.
“So that’s him?” Mom says when we’re outside in the fresh air, waiting for Cruz to pull around. “Your dad’s had a lot to say.”
“I have a lot to say about him.” Finally, there’s something good I can share with them beyond the bakery. “I’ll have to tell you.”
“I hope you do.”
A few minutes later, Cruz pulls up and helps Mom into the back seat and I get in next to her.
All the way back to Huckleberry Springs, Dad chats with him in the front while Mom dozes.
I let my weariness sink in and admire his profile.
The way he held me while we danced. There was no hip thrusting or shaking of my ass, and he cradled me tenderly against him.
While I can’t take my eyes off Cruz, Dad asks my date all about growing up in Bozeman, and Cruz politely skims over the most dramatic parts of his childhood, dwelling on his time working at the Bailey Beef ranch and learning the ropes of distilling instead.
When we reach their house, Cruz doesn’t dump and run.
He’s Mom’s support, helping her inside. She must really be out of it if she’s not pestering him with all the questions she slept through Dad asking.
Then Cruz waits with me until Clem arrives to stay with our parents, and he drives me back to the bakery.
“I’ll walk you in,” he says with a regretful note to his voice, “but then I’ve gotta go. Iverson’s covering for me at Foster House.”
“You should’ve told me.” I could’ve figured something out.
“Nope, sugar. The guys and I help each other out all the time. I am right where I want to be.”
He says that after being my pillow in a waiting room all night. So much hotter than all his muscles. “I’m glad you are.”
When I get out of the pickup, he comes around, putting an arm around my waist. I want to lean back into him, to let someone else carry the heavy load for once, but I don’t, or I’ll fall asleep.
He’d probably stand in one spot and keep me from falling all day too.
Is this what being with a real man is like? “Want some cupcakes to take to work?”
“Nah, Elodie. They’d only make me think of how sugary sweet you are, and I can’t get my work done when I’m horny as fuck.”
The laughter is unexpected. “Fair enough.”
“Not fair at all.” He tilts my face up and places a firm kiss on my lips. When he pulls away, his eyes are heavy lidded. “It seems to be a condition I’ve been afflicted with a lot lately.”
I rise to my tiptoes and give him another quick kiss. “Me too.”
My breath hitches at his smoldering gaze, but I slip into the bakery and shut the door behind me without looking back. Otherwise, I might dive right back into his arms.
Cruz
I’m in the rickhouse with the forklift to retrieve the barrel getting dumped and bottled today.
The smell of warm grains, old wood, and musty dirt surrounds me.
Only a faint chirping of birds makes it through the walls.
This is one of my favorite places to be.
It’s quiet, and it’s tangible proof of my accomplishments.
It’s the weekend again, and I’ve barely gotten to see Elodie. The street fair is three weeks away, and the distillery is in full swing, preparing for the increased tourism load and readying for our booth at the fair and planning out our autumn distribution and cocktail menu.
I brought her dinner two nights ago, the same food she ordered from La Taqueria.
She was pale with circles under her eyes.
Was she tired? Stressed? She wouldn’t share.
Her table was scattered with notes and calculations of what she’d need to make for the street fair and when.
A large number was scrawled across the top of one sheet and circled so hard and so many times the paper had almost torn.
Something’s still going on, and she’s not talking.
I told her I was a patient man, and I have to be a man of my word. My pretty little baker is opening up to me. I just have to keep working at it. Unfortunately, I also have to keep working here and at the small ranch I run with my brother.
I locate the barrel I need and double-check the details stamped into the front. Yep, it’s the whiskey I’m looking for. I’m about to hop back onto the forklift when my phone buzzes.
Elodie: Can you call when you have a second?
At the risk of looking like I watch my phone waiting on her texts, I dial her up.
She answers with a breathless “Hello?”
“Hey.” I’m grinning and I can’t even see her. God, I’ve got it bad, and I don’t even care.
“Hi. Um . . .”
I tense. Is she going to tell me that she can’t see me anymore? That I’m too much of a distraction, and she’s got a business to run?
“My dad wants to invite you to a barbecue Sunday night. He wants to thank you for everything you did.”
I grin and lean against the cool metal of the forklift. “I’d love to, but only if you want me there.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
My smile stretches farther. That’s what I like to hear. “You might be sick of me.”
Her soft laugh travels over the line. “I haven’t had the time to get sick of you.”
“Are you sure? I might need to bring you one more meal to make sure.”
“If it’s the sesame chicken from Wok and Rolls, that might help me decide.”
“Tonight? I have to work the tasting room tomorrow, and Wok and Rolls closes before we do.”
“I’m here all night.” Weariness pours out of her answer.
“You need some rest.”
“I know,” she says with a yawn.
“I’m off at five. I’ll swing home and do some chores, pick up food, and be right over.”
“You sure?”
“One hundred percent. What can I bring to the party?”
“Party’s a strong word when it’s related to my parents,” she says and I love the wry tone in her voice. She’s tired but not beaten down by what’s been bothering her. “I’ve got the dessert. How about that pasta salad?”
“You liked my noodles.”
“Cruz, I haven’t been around your noodles enough to know. We keep getting interrupted.”
My laughter spills out of me. “I’ll bring so much pasta salad you can’t help but be satisfied.”
“My parents will really appreciate this,” she says softly.
I appreciate her parents for giving me another reason to get close to Elodie when she’s neck-deep in work.
“It’s my pleasure. I’d like to get to know them when they’re not worried about their health and safety.
I might even have to study up on structural integrity or some other architectural terms.”
“He’ll be too busy asking you about distilling. Dad loves to learn new things. FYI, if you want to butter up Mom, the new library wing’s named after her. It’s her maiden name. The Patricia Lang addition.”
“No shit? I never put that together, but I’ll keep it in mind. As much as I’ve turned into a good boy, I don’t hang out at the library.”
“Mm-hmm.” It’s more of a resigned hum. “Dad donated to the park foundation, so he got a gazebo with his name on it.”
No wonder Elodie is afraid to upset them. She says she doesn’t want to concern them, but she also doesn’t want to feel unworthy. The Palmer who caused problems instead of helping to solve them.
Her parents and sister are that family, the ones who contribute to the community to help poor-as-hell kids like me.
I grew up lashing out at kids who had wealth and privilege and the audacity to be nice on top of it.
If they’d made a mistake, I would’ve torn them apart.
Socially, at least. “I look forward to the picnic, and I appreciate both the invite and a chance to hang with you again.”
“Thanks, Cruz.”
“My pleasure.” I mean it. Anything with her is. When we hang up, I stare at the phone until the hinges on the front door squeak loud.
Lane enters, wincing. “We got any lube out here?”
“For him or for her?”
“The stuff that warms when you rub it.” He smirks. “I’ll remember to grab a can when I come out next.” His gaze dips to the phone in my hand. “Talking to your girlfriend? Was wondering what was taking you so long. Haven got tired of waiting and went to lunch.”
I didn’t mean to hold him up, but worth it. “Elodie’s parents invited me out for a meal on Sunday.”
He crosses his arms and appraises me. “Hanging out at their house?”
“Her dad likes me, and her mom was concussed.” I already told him about the hospital stay and the ride home.
He arches a brow. “You nervous?”
“No.”
“You should be.”
“Why? The older crowd loves me. I’m a hit at bingo when Edna asks us to go with her.” Our part-time accountant takes in every person under fifty as one of her kids or grandkids.
“I was talking about Elodie. You’re in love.”
“It’s too soon.” I’m head over boots for her.
Wound so tight that I’m afraid to see my water bill after jacking off to her moans and tight nipples against my palms. I can’t quit thinking about her and doing everything to make her happy.
So, yeah. Maybe I’m boarding the love train. “You don’t think I have it in me?”
“I wondered.”
“What about you? It’s not like you’ve had a relationship last longer than a pair of socks.”
“You gotta specify what type of socks. They aren’t made like they used to be.” He shakes his head. “I know you have it in you, but you never let anyone in except for me and Myles. And Mae.”
“One, I haven’t found anyone before who hooked me like Elodie.
And two, just because I don’t take Dad’s calls or write back to him doesn’t mean I’m broken.
Doesn’t mean you are either. Mom didn’t love us, and it’s not our fault.
You can put yourself out there for someone who has their shit together instead of people who are proven to let you down. ”
He scoffs. “I know.”
“Do you?” When he started down this path, I thought he was talking about me. Is he afraid his issue is that he hasn’t found anyone, or that he has and passed them by?
“Yes. I also think Mom loved us in her fucked-up way. She kept it together until I turned eighteen.”
Then he went from a surrogate parent to a father figure I didn’t listen to. He’s been putting himself in that responsible role ever since and using it to buffer himself from life. “You’ll find someone. You just haven’t met her yet.”
He scoffs. “Sure.”
“Nope. I can see it. She’s going to be the one who’ll give you blue balls and you’ll deal with it for weeks or months or years because you know she’s going to be worth it, and if it doesn’t happen, you still won’t mind because what you got was enough.”
Both of his brows tick higher as I talk.
“Shit, Cruz. I came in here to see what was taking you so long to get the damn barrel, not to get a life lesson I don’t need.
” He starts for the door, but when he puts his hand on the knob, he pauses.
“For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you.
It makes those years less . . . regrettable. ”
He doesn’t have to specify exactly which years. All of them. He changed my diapers when he was barely out of his. He made sure I had my hat and gloves in the winter, sometimes giving me his own. And he sacrificed his wild teen years to finish raising me and keep me out of jail.
If the only way I can honor him is to fall in love and be a decent partner, it’s going to be an easy task. All I have to do is the opposite of what our parents did.