Chapter 6 #2
I laugh, imagining the rooster chasing Tristan to the point that he’s yelling about killing him. “You should video that,” I tell her conspiratorially.
“I will next time.”
“Is your dad around?” I ask, trying to sound cavalier, but let’s face it, I’m a Gatlin and he’s a Stone. There’s nothing normal about me asking for him.
She pushes her one hip out and looks away. “No. At least I hope not. I’m avoiding him.”
I know that tone. “I see. You’re upset with him?”
Sadie turns her head quickly. “He’s stupid.”
“Most men are, trust me, I have brothers.”
That earns me a smile. “Why does my family hate you?”
I smile back and reiterate my last statement.
“Because most men are stupid. Honestly? I don’t know anymore.
There have been about a hundred versions of the story that change some detail each time we tell it.
My favorite is the one about the time your family stole all my family’s horses and sold them.
Of course, no one remembers all the details. ”
She snorts a laugh. “I’ve heard about the time your grandad came to the auction and told everyone our horses were defective so no one bought them.”
Yeah, that sounds like my grandpa. He hated the Stones and did anything he could to piss them off.
“I’ll tell you this,” I say, leaning against the fence post. “I don’t hate your family.”
She raises one brow and smirks. “Really?”
“Really. I don’t. I try not to hate people without a really good reason.”
Sadie shifts the chicken to her other arm. “Me too.”
“I think it’s a good rule to live by.”
“So who do you hate?”
That’s a good question. I ponder it, going through anyone who might be on my list. “I hate people who litter. Find a garbage can and don’t be lazy, you know?”
Sadie laughs softly. “Okay…”
“I hate people who are mean just to be mean. There was a girl in middle school who just tried to be awful—I hated her. She did grow up, and I ended up being civil with her, but during that time, I definitely didn’t like her.”
Seriously, there’s always one girl who thinks being cruel is fun.
Diana used to pick on me all the time. She used to call me names, always go after the boy I liked.
It wasn’t until high school when she was a freshman and there was a senior who was much meaner than her that she was knocked down a few pegs.
“There’s a girl in school, her name is Lauren, and everyone thinks she’s so nice, but she’s mean. She’s, like, nice-mean, which is worse than just being mean-mean.”
I nod. “Be authentic, right?”
“Yes.”
“What about you? Who do you hate?”
Sadie puts the chicken down, walking toward the fence. “I hate people who think they know you better than you know yourself.”
That’s deeply philosophical for a twelve-year-old. I also have a feeling we’re not talking about random people, and this is a parenting thing. As much as I sometimes feel like I’m my brothers’ other mother, I don’t know this territory, so I’m a little hesitant to dive in.
“I see. Hopefully you don’t deal with that a lot.”
She scoffs. “Like, every day.”
“Can I guess who this person might be?”
“My dad.” She answers before I can guess.
I figured as much. “Most of the time, parents are just doing what they think is best. It’s not that they think they know better.”
At least, that’s something my mom would say, so we’re going to go with that. I’m not a parent, and I have no clue what they think, especially her father.
“Well, they don’t always know,” Sadie says with a fire in her voice that I can feel from over here.
I nod slowly. “Yeah, that’s true.”
She lets out a long, slow sigh and reaches down for her chicken. “I need to go back to the coop. I want to build them a new roosting area.”
“Have you decorated the coop?” I ask.
“Not really…”
“In my coop, they have a chandelier,” I tell her.
Sadie’s eyes widen to saucers, and I see so much of her father.
She has his darker hair color, where Emmy Jo’s was much lighter, as were her eyes—Sadie has Tristan’s shape, but her mother’s eye color.
“A chandelier?” she asks.
I nod. “It’s solar and only there so that I can see them at night, but it’s pretty and I think every girl deserves a little pretty, even if they’re just chickens.”
“I like you, Lark,” Sadie admits.
I feel like I just won the lottery. “I like you, too, but let’s not tell anyone.”
She laughs. “Okay.”
“Sadie?” A deep voice that I’ve heard in my head for the last week calls out. I turn, watching Tristan stride toward us like some freaking scene from a movie. The sun is setting behind him, and he’s wearing tight jeans, a white T-shirt, and a cowboy hat.
The sun makes it impossible to see his face until he’s closer, and oh, what a face.
The man is hot.
I really wish he wasn’t, but he is. He’s rugged and calls to that very base desire I’ve always had, but cowboys are trouble, and I have enough of that.
Sadie turns to her father and then turns to me. “Can I come see your coop?”
“If your dad is okay with it, sure.”
She looks to Tristan. “Am I allowed to visit Lark’s chicken coop one day? She has a chandelier in hers.”
His gaze moves to mine. “A what?”
“It’s a light, you know, hangs inside a lot of spaces.”
He rolls his eyes. “No, I don’t need you getting any ideas.”
Sadie shakes her head. “Whatever. Once again, I can’t do something.”
“Why don’t you bring the chicken back and then wash up for bed,” he suggests with a deep sigh.
She snaps to attention and salutes him. I fight back the laugh that’s bubbling up and turn my head.
“Bye, Lark,” Sadie says.
“Bye, Sadie.”
Sadie stomps off, and Tristan leans against the fence post, watching her go. “That kid is going to be the death of me.”
“She’s a smart girl.”
“Too smart.” He stands and turns to face me. “You said you wanted to talk.”
Oh yeah, that.
“I told the family about your roadside rescue. It went over about as well as you could imagine.”
He huffs a laugh. “You mean they wanted you to be stranded in the storm?”
“No, but…they didn’t want a reason to have to think you might not be the Antichrist.”
“Or that maybe we aren’t the horrible people you’ve imagined us to be, and we aren’t the culprits in this ridiculous prank war that someone else is doing?” he tosses back.
“Or that.”
Honestly, the entire thing is absurd, but I’m not going to win that argument anytime soon. My point of meeting him was to warn him that they know and there will probably be some comments made.
My brothers are not the most mature humans.
“I can handle it,” Tristan assures me. “Thanks for the warning. How did they respond to you about not telling them right away?”
About that…
I shrug. “I have a flair for the dramatic.”
He laughs, and I feel it in my chest.
Stupid heart, knock it off.
“You? Dramatic? I never would’ve guessed. Wasn’t it you who made the posters and stuck them around our high school when you found out that Jenna was dating your ex?”
“I don’t recall any such flyers,” I lie.
Jenna wasn’t just dating my ex—she was dating my then-current boyfriend. So, yes, I used my crafting abilities to show that Guy Parksley had some issues and that women should be cautious.
I’m not proud of it, but I was young and a woman scorned and all that.
“I’m pretty sure Fallon saved one,” Tristan muses.
I roll my eyes. “Anyway, my point is…you’ll probably get a visit from Daddy, and you don’t have to lie about saving me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Some partner in crime you are,” I scoff. Half joking, half not.
“I’m not lying for you. Your family already thinks we’re untrustworthy and we’re trying to ruin your farm.”
Okay, so he has a point there. I hate all this. We’re neighbors. There shouldn’t be this hatred between us. No one is saying we need to be friends, but this…is out of control. I reach my hand out over the fence, resting it on his forearm.
“I don’t think you’re doing it. If it counts for anything.”
Tristan glances down where my hand is touching him and back into my eyes. His deep brown eyes bore into mine. “It counts.”
It does.
Shit.
I pull back, regretting the dumb impulse to touch him. I can’t touch Tristan Stone. I might turn into an alien or something, if the folklore is true. Space. That’s what I need. I step back and force a smile. “I’ll see you around.”
“Do me a favor. Tell your family to stop calling the cops.”
I wish it were that simple. “Tell yours to stop vandalizing our property.”
He grins. “I’m going to put up cameras to prove it isn’t us.”
“That would probably be the only way they’d believe it.” I keep moving backward, away from his intoxicating smile and soulful eyes that I do not want to get lost in. Thank you very much.
“Even then…” he says with a laugh. “They might not.”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll see.”
“I guess we will.”
“Hey, Lark?” Tristan calls out, and I hate the way my heart beats a little faster.
“What?”
“What do I get when I prove it’s not us?”
Oh, the things I would like to offer. None of them are possible. None of them will ever freaking happen, but the idea of them lives rent-free in my head.
“The satisfaction of being right,” I suggest.
“I think you’ll owe me something else.”
Somehow I fight the urge to ask what he has in mind. I just grin. “You’ll have to prove it first.” Then I turn and don’t look back, or I might make a big mistake.