Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(39)

“Where did all of this furniture come from?” I dare ask.

Wilma’s blue eyes flash to Ben as she says, “They’re beautiful pieces, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” I confirm, running my hand along the carved leg of a small desk.

“Ben’s father made everything in here. He’s a carpenter.”

“Really?” Ben hasn’t mentioned a word about his dad and, given no father figure has made an appearance as of yet, I was beginning to think he wasn’t in the picture. Plus, Ben made that comment about helping his mom with her orange grove last weekend because she’s all alone—while groveling for my help at the office.

But Wilma just used the present tense, so his father is obviously around. Otherwise why would she keep an entire house full of reminders? Poking Ben in the ribs, I ask, “Did you inherit your father’s talent?”

“Nope. Can’t say I did. Come on.” He hooks his arm around my neck, pulling me into a gentle headlock, his shirt deceptively soft against my cheek. “Let’s go, MacKay.”

“Don’t roughhouse her! She’s not one of your brothers.” Clasping his face between her hands, Wilma stretches onto her tiptoes and lays a kiss on his cheek. “Now go have fun. I’ll pack all this extra food up for you to take home so you don’t have to worry about cooking.”

I stifle my snort. Ben doesn’t worry about cooking. I’ve seen him walking past my office every day with a Subway bag in his hands. He may as well buy a franchise of the chain. That poor, unsuspecting woman . . . I watch her disappear down the hall and then can’t help but whisper, “Does your mom have any idea what her sweet little Ben is really like?”

With an arrogant smirk, he leads me out the front door. “What do you mean?”

“That your pants are off more than they’re on.”

“Not lately.” Eyes drive down the front of my body, stirring an unexpected flurry of nerves inside me, as he leads me toward the barn. “And that has nothing to do with whether I like to take my mama’s cooking home with me.”

“Fair enough.” I start needling his ribs with my fingers until he loosens his grip of me. “So you have a brother?” Ben knows far too much about me and I don’t know nearly enough about him, I’m realizing.

“Three. Jake, Rob, and Josh.”

Four Morris boys. “And are they all like you?” I automatically picture four giant blond men sitting at that table, grins and obnoxious mouths determined to drive their mother nuts.

“Like me how?”

“Big, cocky, whoring mama’s boys?”

He chuckles. “Well, we all look alike. I’m by far the best-looking, of course.”

“Naturally.” Good lord, four men that look like Ben?

“Rob’s married, Josh is divorced. Both with kids. Jake’s been with his girlfriend for a couple of years. They have a kid on the way.”

“So you’re the only one with commitment issues?”

He only laughs. “I guess. I have an older sister, too. Elsie.”

“Let me guess . . . you’re the baby?” His grin answers me. Makes sense. “You milk that for all it’s worth, don’t you.”

“Can you blame me?” Deep divots form in Ben’s cheeks.

“I guess not.” As we pass the barn, I catch movement behind the glass window again. As if someone is watching. “Hey Ben, is there someone in there?”

“Probably my father.” Ben weaves his hand through mine and pulls me around to the side of the barn.

“Does he not come out?” I can’t help but think it’s odd that his own father wouldn’t have come out to greet him. Unless his mother is a Betty Crocker psycho who keeps her husband chained up in the barn like he’s got an incurable disease. I’m sure I’ve seen a show like that before.

“Later tonight. He likes it in there.” Ben yanks a blue tarp off an object hidden beneath and all concerns about Ben’s peculiar dad disappear at the sight of thick-treaded tires and red-and-yellow roll bars.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” I blurt out, heading straight for the driver’s seat of the dune buggy.

“Whoa . . .” A thick arm ropes around my waist to hold me back, pulling me tight against him. “You think I’m going to just hand you the keys to this? It’s fast.”

“I’m sure it is!” I feel my eyes light up once again. While other little girls were waiting in line to spin in the teacups at the fair, I was the little brat crashing my go-cart around the track. I was never your typical girl. I don’t know how many times I came home with grass stains on my clothes and mud in my hair.

“I don’t know that I trust you. You’re liable to take out half the grove and kill us.”

“I’m a very responsible driver!”

“Is that what you told the cops when you got busted for drag racing?”

“It wasn’t drag racing and no charges were ever laid!” I throw back.

“That’s not what Mason said,” he counters.

How Mason would . . . “Dammit!” Lina must have told him. Change of plan. I roll my body around and press myself against him.

A bark of laughter interrupts my very obvious attempts at seduction. “Oh, hell, I’m an idiot but I’m not falling for that.” He spins me around and gives my ass a hard slap before he climbs into the driver’s side of the dune buggy, moving fluidly for a man with such a large, tall frame. “Get in.”