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Begin the shenanigans here: GOODREADS
7
Beatrice
I can’t believe he kissed me, I scream inside my head as my fists clench at my side. I stomp out of the barn, marching toward the field to calm my racing heart.
“The nerve,” I mutter as I stand under the black sky, stars filling it in a display of brilliance. They twinkle at me like they know a joke I don’t and I curse again. Dagnammit. My lips vibrate from the word, but then I realize they tremble with need. The pressure lingers from his mouth on mine, a mouth I thought I’d forgotten. His words I’ll never forget, but his lips… I willed them to disappear from my memory. Only with his return do memories flood my thoughts, and now, the taste of him invades my body.
“Dammit,” I swear, stomping a foot for emphasis. “Why does he always get to me?” I groan, letting my head fall back as I blink up at the darkness speckled with pinpricks of light. How many stars I wished upon that he was safe even when I hated him most? Now, those wishes bring me misery as he’s returned with all his charming wit.
“There you are.” The sinister voice startles me, and I spin to face John. He looks up at the heavens as his hands slip into his pockets.
“Beautiful night,” he mutters, addressing the sky before lowering his eyes to focus on me. “Beautiful woman.” I shiver at his compliment. John is one of those men you know to stay away from and yet you can’t help be near him. He defines wilderness bad boy, and while I once was attracted to the concept, I’m older and wiser now.
“What brings you outside?” I ask, my eyes drifting back to the open barn door, hoping someone sees us out here.
“Wondering the same thing about you,” he says, and I return my eyes to find his intensely on me.
“Just needing some fresh air.” I dismiss my action with a wave, adding a short chuckle to seem carefree. His nearness has me on edge, but I hold my unease at bay.
“I could use a breath of fresh air as well.” His eyes scan my body, and I’m undressed under their gaze. If it was any other time, possibly any other night, I might have taken him up on the unsaid proposal. I might have given in to the need to feel wanted in some way. But not tonight. My emotions are too raw from Ben’s kiss. John continues his perusal. “Feels good out here, but I know something that would feel better.”
I don’t wish to encourage him so I don’t ask what he means. He lingers on me a moment before turning to glare at the dark fields to my right.
“It’s always him, isn’t it? The beloved best friend of my brother.” His voice rakes with bitterness as his attention snaps back to me.
“Your brother has many friends,” I offer, knowing full well whom he references.
“Yes, his new favored one being Clay O’Leary. Champion soldier. Hero at war. Come home to make a new name for himself.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I state, peering toward the barn again in hopes of an interruption to our conversation.
“You’ve never been so naive, Bea.” The statement startles me. What was he accusing me of? Flirting with him? Maybe. Crossing the line in the past? Possibly. The comment brings my head up, and we stare at one another a moment. “Surely you know of my brother’s proposal.”
A proposal?
“Your brother?” I question, allowing my ignorance to show. When I heard Toni and Leo speaking earlier, I assumed they meant Ben. I am such a fool. Then I think of my cousin. It was written on his face. It was written on his face. Princeton wants Hero as well?
John purses his lips, slowly shaking his head, pleased with knowing something I don’t.
“He seems rather enamored with Clay.” His hesitation proves this wasn’t what he planned to say and it’s written on his face he’s shifting gears. A quirky grin curves his lush lips.
“Your brother is pleased with you as well. You were honored for your service last week.” Home-sung heroes, the men returned from war were mentioned with pride during church services last Sunday. Princeton beamed with honor as he announced those who came home with him—John being among them.
“I’d rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace.”
“Shakespeare.” I beam.
“Ah, Bea, I knew you hadn’t lost your intelligence even if you remained in this Godforsaken place.”
Half pleased with his praise and half insulted, I nod, not willing to explain all the reasons I stay in Bard County.
“And I see you haven’t lost your pension for mischief.” Anything from letting loose our herd to running off with Prince’s prized stallion. Nothing he did disturbed his older brother. Unfortunately, John is blind to his brother’s acceptance. He doesn’t see the unconditional love Prince bears him. He takes advantage and presses the proverbial button of patience over and over and over again. In my opinion, he needs to be stopped, but Prince never reprimands him.
“You know me, Bea, always the bad boy.” He winks and I chuckle half-heartedly. Somehow, I sense war made him more than bad—evil almost—and I don’t like the feeling. I shiver again and he notices.
“Cold?”
“Yes. I believe, I’ll step back to the barn. It’s a blessing to have you home,” I offer, extending my gratitude for his service to our country and his survival overseas.
“Is it, Bea?”
“Of course,” I say, taking an immediate step away from him, deciding it is time to return to the dance.
“We’ll see.” He chuckles behind me, the sound slithering over me, but I don’t turn at the taunt to question what he means.
+ + +
As I near the barn, I find Aunt Toni and Uncle Leo at the open door, standing on the edge between wild party and peaceful night.
“Was that John, Princeton’s brother, I just saw you speaking with, niece?”
“It was.” I risk a glance behind me to find John gone as he disappeared into the blackness of night.
“He’s such a fine-looking man,” Aunt Toni says with exaggeration, and I snicker at her salacious grin and wiggling brow.
“That he is.” I must agree, despite the hard edge to him. John’s black as night hair with eyes blue as the sea are a deadly combination. His skin is cappuccino, distinguishing him from his fairer-skinned brother, and making it obvious they have different mothers. Where Prince is soft, John is hard, and while that once might have appealed to me, it no longer does. “But I think he’s a little too fine for me.” His good looks and tattooed arms speak of someone unlike me, and while attractive to look at, quite possibly not a good match for my simpler tastes.
“He seems so moody,” Uncle Leo states, staring out to where John once stood.
“He’s brooding,” Aunt Toni adds, sighing in admiration and hinting at her overindulgence in romance novels.
“I believe he’s had a rough life,” I suggest, attempting to give sympathy to his plight, but John had it good enough. Maybe his father didn’t accept him, but his brother has and his opinion holds more weight in this community.
“He’s dreamy,” Toni interjects, turning our serious thoughts playful.
“Yes, well, the perfect man is somewhere between John Borgonne and Ben Dexton. The combination of muscle and tattoos, plus wit and words to match the brawn of such physique—that would be a dream to me.”
Leo laughs. “So Ben’s humor coming out of John’s mouth or John’s edge combined with Ben’s body?”
The comment restores my thoughts to Ben’s mouth on mine, but I don’t allow my mind to take me places it isn’t meant to go.
“Both,” I mock. “And a man with conviction. Stamina between his legs. And money, of course,” I taunt, my bawdiness springing free which my uncle and aunt are used to from me. Toni giggles at the reference to male anatomy, but Leo smirks at the mention of money.
“Aw, niece, you are a funny one.” He wiggles a finger at me. “But you will find love one day. Or it will find you.”
“Ha, now you are the comedian, Uncle Leo,” I tease.
“With that attitude, you are cursed, Bea,” Toni chides with another chuckle.
“I think I would be cursed, if I were to marry.” I laugh. “How unfortunate that would be for me,” I feign, pressing fingers to my chest in mockery. “In my prayers each night, I do thank God that I am not cursed with a husband and a husband is not cursed with me. See, I’m all about equality.”
Toni laughs harder and Leo scoffs. “What you need is a man’s man,” he states, a touch of seriousness in his tone.
“And what is a man’s man, Leo? Someone older than me? He’d be experienced while I want to learn new things. He would be too much for me. And if you suggest someone younger than me, than I would be too experienced for him, and I don’t have the patience to teach him all the things I need. I would be too much for him. No, Uncle Leo, what I need is to be me, sexually carefree.”
Leo scowls. I might have gone too far, but Toni interjects in sport. “You’re going to hell in a handbasket, my girl.” She nods, knowing I’m not as sexually out-there as my comment claims.
“I’m going to heaven, Toni, where St. Peter will welcome me, and all the bachelors at the pearly gates will call me over to hang with them. ‘Drink some whiskey,’ they’ll say, and we will live merrily-ever-after.” I can’t use the word happily. It doesn’t seem appropriate.
Toni wags her head and Leo speaks. “Your father just rolled in his grave.”
I guffaw, not knowing if my father would be happy for me or not. It’s partially because of him that I’m the cynical person I’ve become.
“Well, Uncle Leo, as my father isn’t here, I’m free to do as I please where poor Hero must do as you say. I do hope that while it might please you to marry her off, you allow her to be happy with the man who offers.” I wiggle my brows, enjoying the play of words.
“Ah, Bea. You are too smart for your own good, but yes, we hope our dear Hero will be happy to marry someday. We hope you find the same happiness as well.” Ah, yes, there is the reminder. Leo kisses the top of his wife’s head for emphasis of his marital bliss.
“I’ll need God to make a man of stronger metal than dust for me,” I tease. “For dirt blows away in the wind.” My mind drifts to Ben again, the metaphor not lost to me. His eyes match loose soil, his scent similar to the delicate substance, and his disposition equally unstable. “But honestly, I’m quite pleased to consider the opposite sex as my equal and remain friends with any number of them.”
Leo stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. Toni winks and adds, “With benefits, right, dear, for the modern woman.”
I burst into laughter at her comment, and I twist to find we’ve had an audience to our conversation. Ben peers at me from the shadows, his shoulder pressed against the exterior wall of the barn. My amusement instantly falters.
How much did he hear?
With his glasses removed, the scowl on his face warns me he heard too much.
8
Ben
Any number of men as friends with benefits? Over my dead body. My fists clench at my sides as I stare at Bea from the shadows. She’s gone too far this time, and I’m ready to tell her such when she disappears inside the barn with her aunt and uncle. I take a final swig out of the Jim Beam I snatched and throw the bottle to the ground at my feet. Meandering after Bea, I follow the sway of her hips through the crowd like a hunter through meadows, until I notice Clay stricken-faced in a corner. My eyes follow his visual path to observe Princeton dancing with Hero. As I draw near him, I wish to pass him in hopes to continue hunting Bea when something stops me.
“Can you believe my brother has fallen in love?” John hush-whispers from behind Clay. Surely, John misspeaks. Clay’s eyes widen but he doesn’t turn around to face John and Boris behind him. He draws his cowboy hat lower, covering his eyes as his head twists a bit to better listen to these devious men.
Pausing in my tracks, I take one giant step back to shield my presence with some black-haired beauty. My hands come to her hips, holding her in front of me so I may better eavesdrop on the others. She giggles as I whisper at her ear to hush a second and hide me.
“He’s falling for that wisp of a girl Hero and proposing to her,” John chortles and a lewd grin forms on the mouth of Boris whose bald head glistens in the heat of the barn. Clay bristles, standing taller, as his ears perk to listen while he continues to keep his focus forward on Hero and Princeton.
“You say he’s asking the girl to marry him?” Boris chokes, his smirk aimed at the back of Clay’s head.
What the fuck?
“Says he thought of her often while we were overseas. He loves her and wants to know if she returns that love to him.” The emphasis on the final two words confirms who John means. Princeton is asking Hero for her hand for himself.
I don’t believe it. What is John playing at?
“What a lucky bastard he’ll be. He’ll add this land to his and continue to do as he pleases,” Boris adds. John knows this isn’t true. Prince doesn’t need Blue Star Manor nor does he desire Hero. John leans closer to Clay’s back, lowering his voice enough I can’t hear him speak.
Clay doesn’t move, his stature like a frightened bird about to be devoured by a predator. Finally, his fists curl, a hint he’s simmering within. His eyes never leave the embrace of Prince around Hero. Her laughter resonates back to Clay. This is my cue to step forward. Something isn’t right here. At my exaggerated footsteps, both John and Boris look in my direction, not a speck of remorse on either face as they recognize me. Like the rats they are, they scamper off as I approach. Sensing the distress of my young friend, I clap his shoulder.
“How goes the wooing?” I mock, the warmth of whiskey in me dulling the coldness of Bea’s rejection.
“How wrong I was?” he mutters, venom in his voice. His eyes stare forward but do not focus. Hermione giggles and Prince leans forward to whisper in her ear. The movement looks innocent enough, but Clay fumes beside me.
“What’s wrong?” My eyes flick from the laughing couple to my stewing friend.
“She falls for him instead of me,” he bites. I peer at Prince and Hero to see Hero smile in our direction. Her grin grows when her eyes find Clay. Her eyes hide behind her blue mask, but her attention is clear. She worships Clay. “What a fool I was to send someone so slick as Prince to do my bidding. I wouldn’t send another man to complete my missions overseas. Why did I send someone else to woo the woman I love for me?”
The answer is singular—he’s an idiot—but I’m hoping he’s being rhetorical here, so I keep my lips clamped.
“I should never have trusted Princeton to question her. I should have sought her myself, instead of trusting a thief who stole her for his own purposes.” Poison fills his voice.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why would you say such a thing?”
“John. He heard Princeton telling Hero how he hopes to train her quick, press her hard, and mount her soon. Then ride her until she finishes strong. He also wishes to breed her and increase his worth with her.”
What the…?
This sounds nothing like something Princeton would say of a woman or to a woman. In fact, it sounds strangely like something he might say about one of his racehorses—training, pressing, riding—all in hopes to win on high stake races and heighten the prospect of breeding more horses. This is classic Prince lingo, if he were discussing a filly with someone. There must be some misunderstanding, something purposefully lost in translation from John. Fucking John!
“Are you sure he was—”
“How could he do this to me? Is love just a joke to both of you? He knows how I feel about her. Is this another game to be played? Capture the pussy like capture the flag? Whoever gets her first wins? I’ll be the loser amongst you two for centuries with your cavalier ways.” His tone harshens and my offense grows.
“I don’t think—”
“Do you really not believe the sensation of a woman pressed against you is a blessing instead of a curse? Can you for one moment stop dissing romance and learn to embrace it? What a fool I was to send someone in my place. I’ve lost her before I knew there was a race to win her.”
It isn’t that I can’t be romantic. I’ve certainly had my share of women embraced against me, as well, but it is more a matter of taste. I don’t wish to bear the straps of being tied down. I refuse to be sappy, simpering, and whimpering like Clay. I offered my heart once before and had it stomped on. Never again, I swore. The words haunt me.
“I guess…” My voice falters as Prince and Hero approach us.
“Clay, it is settled,” Prince offers, pressing Hero toward our young friend. Clay’s rough demeanor remains stoic as Hero stumbles and falls against him. He stiffens with the contact, and I wonder at the reaction.
“Yes, settled for you,” Clay snips and Prince stares back at the love-scorned man.
“Hero?” Prince directs his gaze toward the youthful brunette, questioning Clay’s attitude.
“Clay, what’s wrong?” she whispers, her eyes lowering demurely. Her smile fades.
“What’s wrong?” he snaps, addressing Prince. “What’s wrong? It’s as if I offered you a pretty filly to view and instead of admiring it, you bought her out from under me.”
“What?” Prince barks and Hero’s eyes widen.
“I sent my best friend to talk to you about me and you fall for him instead,” Clay accuses Hero while his shaky hand waves outward at Prince.
“What?” Prince snaps as Hero remains dumbfound.
“Don’t play games with me,” Clay bites, directing his gaze at Prince. “You know I wanted to ask her to marry me.”
Hero gasps. Her eyes widen while her fingers cover the barely-there grin.
“Clay,” Prince replies, blinking in confusion. “The only thing I did was tell Hero how you wished to speak with her. Privately.”
Clay’s head spins to Hero, his ignorant face blanching. “But John said…” His voice fades. “Is this true?”
A sweetness returns to Hero’s lips. “Yes.”
Clay’s shoulders fall, and his eyes lighten. “I shouldn’t have sent someone else to speak for me,” he admits, his hand coming to her lower back.
Ya think, I want to interject but hold my tongue.
“I thought it was sweet, but maybe next time you can come to me yourself.” Hero pauses. “Did you mean what you just said?” Her face pinkens, her eyes dipping a moment.
Oh no.
“I don’t think…” I begin while Prince holds up a hand to stop our friend, finally realizing this situation might be one step too fast. As Clay remains slow on the uptake, it takes him a moment to decode Hero’s meaning.
“Yes. I want to marry you.” The band stops. The dancers halt. The air temperature falls. This isn’t happening, I decide, but Hero wraps around Clay the next minute and cheers abrupt around us.
“What the—” The final word doesn’t leave my mouth as I jostle backward from the congratulations forming on the lips of those most immediately around us. Was there even a question asked? “What about her father?” I interject, wondering where my thoughts of such propriety come from.
“What about me?” Leo says, a smile filling his voice as he walks up to join the small gathering. Toni stands under his arm.
“Do you approve of this?” I ask, but Leo’s pride shows in his cheeks while Toni beams.
“Prince came to ask our permission on Clay’s behalf earlier today. I knew this was coming.” Leo steps forward to embrace his daughter, and I stand amongst the whirlwind of such a rash proposal as if I’m surrounded by casualty on a battlefield.
Who asks a girl to marry him in the heat of a disagreement?
Then I recall: Oh wait, I once did, and it backfired.
>> THIRD-THURSDAY of March be back for more, ya'here...
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