Chapter Fifteen
SLOANE
THE HEADACHE I woke up with is still tapping my temples even though I took some pain relief powder when I started making breakfast. I’ve never liked whiskey, for some reason it makes me horny, and it gives me the worst headache the next day.
Every time I think about Mason kissing me last night, I try to push the thought away but it’s immediately followed up by him holding me against the wall with his hard length pressed against my center. My cheeks heat up and that same center starts to tingle.
What I should be thinking about is what happened yesterday with my brother. I skirted Mason’s questions as much as possible without outright lying, I don’t want to lie to him, but the thought of him turning on me makes my chest ache.
The ache caused by him possibly wanting to be rid of me has eclipsed the ache of losing the warmth and safety of this family and ranch.
That revelation came to me last night when I was lying awake, staring at the ceiling, and thinking about him telling me that maybe he doesn’t want me to control my feelings for him.
Shaking the thought from my head, I focus on the pancake batter that I am stirring on the island. I have a feeling that the only person who will be in attendance for breakfast will be Mr. Harlow, everyone else will probably sleep in after all the drinks last night.
When Kinley walks into the kitchen, I’m so surprised I almost stop stirring. She must have slept in her old room last night instead of going back to her cabin.
She was in the kitchen last night when I walked out of the mud room and saw Mason walk out behind me. I tried to pretend like it was nothing unusual, like he just happened to be in there doing mud room things at the same time as me.
Ugh, that sounds so lame, there isn’t anything I can think of that we would be doing in the mudroom at the same time. Late in the evening. During a tree-trimming party. With alcohol.
“Good morning,” I say as she walks around the island to the cabinet with the mugs.
She only smiles over her shoulder as she walks.
She’s about four years older than me, but every time I’m around her I feel like she is younger.
Kinley has never had responsibilities, she’s grown up on a ranch that she hates while at the same time taking advantage of all the freedom and privilege it gives her.
Even though I try not to be judgy, Kinley never fails to behave like a spoiled thirty-year-old.
I bite my cheek as I wait for her to say something.
Her back is to me as she stands on her tiptoes to reach the cocoa in the cabinet. Her thick blond waves fall down the back of the oversized sweater that almost reaches her knees. I passively watch her as I continue stirring the batter for the pancakes.
Her movements are slow and deliberate, she pours a mug of milk and sets it in the microwave, keeping her back to me.
It’s almost like she’s trying to create tension.
The microwave dings that the mug of milk is warm and she slowly pulls it out and sashays to the counter with a smirk. I know she is dying to say something about seeing Mason and me in the den the other day, and then again last night, even her movements scream ‘I know something you don’t know’.
All the muscles across my shoulders are starting to pull tighter and I press my lips together, the tension in the room is getting thicker the longer it takes her to make a simple cup of cocoa.
It’s the damn smirk she wants me to see.
She sets the spoon she was stirring with on the counter and blows across the top of her cocoa, between breaths she says, “So, are you cleaning my brother’s pipes?”
Taking a deep breath while keeping my attention on the bowl in front of me, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not cleaning anything of your brother’s besides his laundry.”
Taking a sip, she leans her hip against the counter and narrows her eyes. She tilts her head and smiles, “Is he paying you extra for that service?”
I stop stirring, angry heat is creeping up my neck and cheeks and I meet her hazel eyes, “Are you implying that I’m a prostitute?”
Her smile is saccharine, “I’m not implying anything, I know what I saw and,” she points her finger at me and swirls it in the air, “you are fucking my brother, and I’m wondering if its a free service or an additional charge.”
Anger and embarrassment overtake my thoughts and without thinking I lift the spatula that my hand has a death grip on and sling it in her direction as I whisper yell, “Don’t be crass, I am not fucking your brother.”
The shock on her face with her arms held out to the side echoes the disbelief I’m feeling as I look at the line of pancake batter splattered on the front of her sweater and across her face. I drop the spatula back into the bowl and slap my hand over my mouth in surprise.
As she looks down at the front of her sweater, a dollop of batter drops off her nose into her mug. She slowly lifts her head, her eyes are practically slits and her lips are a tight line. It strikes me as odd that this is the first time I’ve noticed how alike she and Tucker look.
It happens in slow motion as she picks up her mug and tosses its contents in my direction, overly warm cocoa splashes onto my face and down my front. Now I’m the one holding my arms to my sides as the sticky liquid drips off me.
Maybe I should stay away from hot cocoa.
Anger takes over and I swipe my hand through the batter in the bowl and sling more of it at her, it hits her mouth and chin and slides down her neck.
Her shock morphs into anger and through clenched teeth, she says, “You whore,” as she launches herself at me, but her thick socks slip in the cocoa on the floor and she falls against me, her hands holding my arms as she tries to keep her balance.
Her face is a mask of surprise as she slips while trying to gain her footing, I try to pull my arms out of her grip, half to encourage her to fall and half to stop myself from slipping with her, but I end up going down with her anyway.
We both yelp as we fall to the floor. The pancake batter mixes with the cocoa and she starts sliding on her knees as she starts to crawl up my legs, the anger on her face even more evident than it was before.
“You’re going to regret that, whore.” She yells.
“I am not a whore!” I bellow between clenched teeth and surprise us both when I grab her hair and pull her to the side to try to get on top of her.
I’ve never been a physically aggressive person, my passive nature usually has me avoiding all forms of conflict, but the past few years have put a little bit of steel in my backbone.
Her hand slaps on the side of my head as she grabs my hair in return and we start to roll around in the mess of batter and cocoa, each trying to get the upper hand in the slippery mess.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Mr. Harlow bellow, “Jeesuus! What the hell’s going on in here?”
A pair of hands grab me under my arms to pull me up and away, and I see Mr. Harlow doing the same to Kinley.
“Let me go,” Kinley yells, pulling away from her dad.
I look over my shoulder and see Mason behind me with a smirk of amusement on his face. I jerk my shoulders to the side out of his grasp and stand to his side.
Mr. Harlow looks between us and then lands on Kinley, “What the hell‘s going on.”
Kinley looks at me and I wonder if I also look like I just came out of a pudding-lined wrestling ring. We stare at each other for a moment before she looks to the side and I lower my eyes to the floor.
We made quite a mess.
One that I’ll have to clean up.
“Nothing, it was nothing.” She says, crossing her arms over her chest.
Mr. Harlow chuckles and says, “It looks like a little more than just nothing.” Then he looks at me.
I shake my head and glance at Kinely before I look at him, “It was an accident, I’ll get it cleaned up.”
His hand sweeps across the floor and he says, “Well, it looks like this mess was made by two people, so you’ll both clean it up.”
Kinley’s head swivels to look at her dad, a look of disbelief on her face, “What?”
He puts his hands on his hips and all trace of humor falls away, “You heard me, help her clean it up.”
She actually growls like a teenager as she turns to the pantry to get the cleaning supplies, “Fine.”
All of my anger has drained away and now all I feel is shame, “It’s okay, I’ll clean it up, Mr. Harlow.” I look down at the floor and wish they would all leave before it starts to dry, making it harder to get out of the grout.
When he doesn’t answer, I look up at him and he’s looking at me like he was just looking at Kinley, “I want you both to do it, when I come back in here this kitchen had better be clean.”
It’s not lost on me that the tone he’s using with me is the same tone I hear him use with his children and I suppress the smile that is trying to tip my lips.
He turns on his heel and walks out of the room, I turn to look at Mason and he’s still smirking.
“Get out,” I say softly, my cheeks are crimson after getting in trouble with Mr. Harlow.
“Is it safe to leave? ‘Cause if there is going to be any more rolling around in the floor in batter, I wanna watch.” He drawls, laying his accent on thick, as he leans on the island with one hand and hooks the thumb of his other hand in his pocket.
I turn from him and grab the towel from the sink as I turn the hot water on, my hair is sticking to my face where Kinley slapped the side of my head and everything is sticky. He is standing so close to me that I can feel the heat from his chest on my back.
“Get away,” I whisper as I look in the direction of the pantry.
His voice is low and next to my ear, “Does this have anything to do with me?”
Tears of humiliation are threatening, making me scrub my hands harder in the water. All I can do is shake my head, “Get away,” I whisper again around the lump in my throat.
He steps away just as Kinley comes around the corner holding the mop in one hand and the bucket in the other. She sees Mason still in the kitchen and her lips tip up as she looks between us.
Closing the distance between them in two steps, he points his finger in her face, “Be nice or we’re going to have a chat about the weed you keep in your bathroom behind the toilet.”
The smile falls and she narrows her eyes to glare at him for a moment, “I’ll be nice.”
Mason leaves the kitchen without a look back and we start to clean in silence.
I drop the wet rag on the floor next to the island to wipe the splatters off the baseboard but when I squat down I feel like I’m going to throw up. I shouldn’t have taken that powder on an empty stomach, I sit back against the cabinet and close my eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass.
“If you think I’m cleaning most of this while you recline on the floor, you’ve got another thing coming.” Kinley’s angry voice snaps my eyes open.
I take a deep breath and shake my head, “I’ve got this, just go away and I’ll clean it up.”
She stops and leans against the mop, “No way, if Daddy comes in here and I’m not helping I’ll get an earful.”
Taking another deep breath, I crawl back to the baseboard and mumble, “I hate whiskey.”