Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Emerson
Hillary runs through Cruz’s backyard, playing fetch with his corgi, Rufus. She’s laughing and giggling and running after the ball as much as the dog is.
Brooks stands in the corner of the porch, watching her with a content, yet wistful look on his face.
He’s looking like my teen older brother in his jeans and T-shirt.
The cowboy boots he bought shortly after he arrived are clean but no longer brand-new looking.
He’s been working outside every day, fixing fence, repairing equipment, and trying to make the property more habitable than before.
“Looks like you’re in the market for a dog, my dude.” Cruz flips the burgers. He’s got the same working cowboy appearance. Lane too.
Brooks grunts and shakes his head. “I was hoping to ease into country life more, but she’s diving headfirst.”
Our food is laid out on a long table and covered, but Cruz and Elodie are relaxed hosts.
She’s kicked back in a chair at the round table opposite Brooks, her shorts and loose shirt more summery than country.
I don’t feel like I stick out around her, sitting in the back between the table and the railing.
Lane is next to me, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
Cruz shooed him from the grill and told him to take a seat and not be in charge for once.
So Cruz sees what I do as well.
The orgasm from earlier hums through my veins. I shouldn’t have done that, but I can’t bring myself to forget it. It’s pointless to do anything else but enjoy the night and try not to think about his announcement.
Everything I do revolves around you, and I’m not sorry about that.
How can a simple sentence like that reach the deepest parts of me? How can it shine a light where it’s been so dark?
Cruz turns his back to the grill, rapping the handle of his spatula on his hand. “I asked Haven to stop by the distillery.”
Lane puts his feet flat on the ground. “I was going to do that when I left.”
“A little out of your way,” Cruz says wryly.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he’d have to check on the distillery, but I hold it in.
If I hadn’t verbally attacked him first, I’d have asked how his day was.
Even sooner, I’d have noticed that his shoulders were hanging a little more and he was sporting a tiny perma-frown like there’s a lot on his mind.
“Haven doesn’t need to disrupt his night,” Lane argues.
“He doesn’t mind.” Cruz shoots him a shameless grin that says he knows Lane delves too far into his work. Then he turns and rescues the burgers.
Brooks calls for Hillary to wash her hands, and within minutes, we’re loading our plates to sit and eat.
Lane scoots his chair closer to me so there’s more room for Brooks and Hillary.
“I, uh, hope this isn’t some round-robin thing,” Brooks says lightly, but with a serious note to his tone. “I’m gonna need some time before the house is ready for a group of people.”
Cruz grips his burger. “I have you down for the end of August.” He chuckles at Brooks’s alarm. “Nah, I’m kidding.”
“We’ll make a thing—when you’re ready,” Lane says.
Anxiety flexes inside me. Will Brooks be ready when I’m gone? I’ll be in my barren apartment, and they’ll all be here, on a beautiful summer evening, having good food with great company.
Will Lane have a different woman?
The burger turns to ash in my mouth. I cough around the food and take a big pull of my lemonade. Lane pivots toward me, ready to do the Heimlich or hand-feed me or something.
“Sorry,” I croak.
“First time chewing?” Hillary chirps.
Brooks snorts and clears his throat. “Sorry. I say that to her when she doesn’t slow down eating.”
“Our dad used to say that.” Cruz flashes Lane an amused look. “Most of the time it was to our mom and it was—” His eyes flare wide and his gaze lands on a very interested Hillary. “Uh, inappropriate.”
“Now I have to know.” I put my hands around Hillary’s ears, and she rolls her eyes.
“When Mom would cough,” Lane says for Cruz, “he’d say, ‘I know it ain’t your first time swallowing.’” He mimics the gruffness his dad must have.
Snickers fill the air, and I pull my hands away, grinning.
My niece scowls at me. “I always miss the good stuff.”
“Just dads being dads.” Cruz pops a grape into his mouth. “Except your dad is cooler than ours was.”
“What was yours like?” she asks.
I instinctively lean closer to Lane.
He rests an elbow on the armrest of his chair closest to me. “He wasn’t a nice man, but he could be funny at times. Once in a while, he’d be decent, but most of the time, he was just selfish and it landed him in prison.”
“What’d he do?” she asks, and damn. I haven’t dug this much into Lane. I’ve wanted to know everything about him, but have I really taken an interest? Not like this.
“Stole things,” Cruz answers. Elodie rests her hand on his thigh under the table. Has Lane had any of that support? “Caused a really bad accident that hurt a lot of people.”
“My dad’s never been to prison,” Hillary says.
Brooks makes a noncommittal sound. “I might become the hay-bale bandit if any more belts on the baler snap.”
“That bad?” Lane asks.
“Nah, just nuisance costs.” Brooks isn’t going to offer more than that.
“You have any luck with jobs?” I ask, knowing damn well my brother would never approach the guys about opportunities.
Brooks doesn’t glare at me, just shrugs my question off. “Not with the flexibility I need. Maybe when school starts, I’ll find something.”
“Do you like driving?” Lane asks. “We’ve been thinking of adding another delivery truck to our rotation, and we’d need another body.”
A spark of hope in my brother’s eyes flares and dies. “I can’t be gone for that long.”
I almost offer to help, but I won’t be here when school starts. Could I return that regularly? My job is mobile; I can make it that way, but how much time can I feasibly take off?
“We’ll work with you,” Lane says easily. “As long as you obey traffic laws, don’t flip off anyone who cuts in front of a truck with Foster House Gold emblazoned on the side, or drink on the clock, we could use you.”
“Seriously.” Cruz nods. “I’m going to take it further—if you drink off the clock, it needs to be cleared out of your bloodstream by the time you’re behind the wheel.”
“Get a lot of that?” I ask, curious about the workings of the distillery.
“Finding a reliable driver is the hardest part about providing our own local distribution.” Lane switches his attention to Brooks. “We’d like to add smaller towns. Mop up a lot of the local places that only carry the more recognizable names distributed by the bigger suppliers.”
“Can I let you know?” Brooks asks, but he’s going to take it. Our dad left us a lot, but no extra funds to run it.
“We’re a family company,” Lane says carefully and my heart crawls up into my throat. “Regardless of what happens after you take ownership of the house, you’re part of our family.”
Lane
I take my time wandering from my brother’s property to mine.
I don’t want to presume Emerson will fall into bed with me, and I don’t want the night to end.
The shuffle of our steps mingles with the crickets and frogs.
An occasional moo fills the air, and one of the horses hollers across the pasture to another horse that neighs back.
“You don’t get these sounds in the city,” Emerson murmurs. “I never realized how much they were a part of my life until now.”
“These pastures used to be full of Langley cattle?”
“Yeah, and the horses that Brooks and I could jump on bareback. I just hope he can get his pastures filled with cattle again.”
“He will.” Lady runs to meet us. She’s pretty good about staying on my property. Sometimes, she’ll run up and down the line with Rufus, but I haven’t had to chase her down yet. “It seems like it’s all coming back to him.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For offering him a job.”
“It helps us.” I mean it too. Trustworthy employees are worth their weight in gold, and Huckleberry Springs is too small to recruit the pool of drivers we’d like.
“Just being neighborly?”
“Every chance I get.” I give her a smile and take her hand. She lets me and clings to my fingers as she leans out and walks on the edge of the gravel and the grass. I anchor her and let her weave around for a moment before tugging her into me. She twirls and falls into my arms, giggling.
I set her back on her feet and spin her again.
Her eyes shine bright. “Do you dance?”
“The Baileys made sure of it.” I put her hand behind my back and grip her other one. With only nature’s music, I lead her through a lazy two-step.
“I love a guy who can move.”
It takes everything to keep going and not stop and ask her to repeat herself. Tell me you love me. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.” I twirl her again.
She laughs, a light, happy sound. I dance her all the way back and she lets me. I spin her in circles, both of us laughing louder each time. I want this forever. I want her forever. I want her to want the same.
I steer us toward the house, but she stops and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ve gotta close up the ladies.”
“I’ll help you.” I keep hold of her hand as we walk toward the coop.
“This thing really is battered.” She peeks inside, counts the birds, and then shuts the door. With the sun sinking, they’ve already gone in to roost.
“It’s perfect.”
“It’s a blemish.” She takes my hand again. “Your perfect property is now a little duller.”
“Nah, there’s nothing perfect about my property. The coop makes it look a little more lived in, and the chicken crap adds a nice ambiance to this stretch of lawn.” I give her a smile so she knows I don’t mind. The joy those chickens bring her is worth a dodgy coop.
We go into the house, and I dig a half pint of our huckleberry vodka out. “Want to sit on the porch and have a drink?”
Neither of us turned on the lights when we entered, and her eyes are luminous in the shadows.
“Yeah, I’d like that.” She waits at the end of the counter while I dig out sparkling water and a lime. “What are you making me?”