Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(83)
Jackass. “Clearly,” I mutter dryly as Ben occupies himself with an excited Quincy. He gave me all of ten minutes at home to shower, change, and pack some things for an overnight stay, paranoid that Jack would show up to find him in the driveway. He wouldn’t even come in the house. The official story is that I’m staying at Lina and Nicki’s this weekend. We’ve already texted them and Mason to line it up. None of them are answering their phones, but I’m assuming it’s thanks to a nasty hangover and Mason playing nursemaid to Lina.
“And here I thought you looked this beautiful just rolling out of bed,” Wilma says, walking over to wrap her arms around me in a warm hug. “Should I smack him or will you?”
“Oh, I’ll make him pay for that,” I promise, feeling all kinds of weirdness and warmth with her gesture. Is this what a normal mom is like? Or did Ben just hit the jackpot? “He’s quite a character, isn’t he?” I muse.
Wilma’s face beams with pride. “He certainly is.” There’s a long pause and I have the distinct feeling that she’s dying to begin asking intrusive questions about my relationship with her son. But she doesn’t. Instead she reaches up to touch the underside of my hair. “I love this color. It suits you.”
I smile, thinking how different Annabelle’s response would be to that.
“Thank you so much for giving up your weekend to help out. The orders are pouring in and I don’t have the seasonal staff starting for another two weeks.”
“Are you kidding?” I let my senses take in everything around me—the peaceful silence, the house that may be in need of repair but is still stunning, the giant oaks that give the property such a haunting, romantic feel—and I exhale blissfully. “I’m just happy to be back so soon.” There’s really only one thing that isn’t entirely charming about the Bernard Morris Grove, but it’s well hidden in the barn, probably sucking back a bottle of whiskey.
“You coming?” Ben hollers, climbing onto the old tractor and sliding on the cowboy hat that was hanging off the back of the seat, a sight that leads to something stirring in my lower belly. I don’t have a thing for cowboys. All the ones I’ve ever met leave much to be desired.
Until now.
“I thought you said I could drive?”
“I lie to get pretty girls to do things. Haven’t you figured that out yet? You can sit on the wagon or up here.” He pats the piece of metal beside his seat, covering the giant tire.
I climb up and hop onto his lap instead. “Fine. We can both drive.”
“This probably isn’t a—” he begins to say but I crank the engine and the rumble of the tractor kills his words. “Okay, you asked for it!” he yells, throwing it into gear, and with one arm wrapped snugly around my waist, he sends the tractor lurching forward down the path.
He takes the same path that he did a few weeks ago in the dune buggy, only at a much slower rate and not quite as far. “I’ve never been on a tractor before!” I yell back as he turns down a narrower path and cuts the engine. Taking in the orange globes contrasting against the rich green leaves, I ask, “Are these tangerines?”
A hand pushes my hair out of the way and then Ben’s mouth grazes over my neck, the heat sending tingles down to my fingertips. “Some sort of citrus, anyway.”
I reach back and swipe his cowboy hat off his head. “Is that the technical term?”
He answers me by reaching down and unfastening my jeans.
My eyes widen as I glance around to make sure we’re completely alone. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Solving the problem you just created by bouncing on my lap for the last ten minutes.”
“So?” I hear him say, my head resting on his broad chest. “You want to quit your day job and be an orange farmer, don’t you.”
I smile, stretching my legs out around a crate by my feet. There are fifteen of them taking up space on the wagon we pulled out here behind the tractor, which we’re now lying on. “Depends. Is the tractor ride a daily perk?” As sore as I am from last night and this morning, the second Ben had my pants off, I couldn’t climb onto his lap fast enough. Anyone who might be hiding out here just got one hell of show.
He chuckles but doesn’t answer.
“Do you?” I finally ask.
“Sometimes. It’s relaxing out here. I have so many great memories, with my brothers and sister. But . . .” His voice fades. I lift my head to catch that far-off look in his eyes, Ben losing himself in a thought. “I didn’t work my ass off through law school for nothing. And then I’d be dealing with that mess,” he says, throwing a lazy hand toward the house. “It would cost a fortune to renovate that place, and what the hell am I going to do with it?”
“Is it just because of that?” Something tells me it has more to do with the mess in the barn.
He opens one eye and peers down at me. “What? You think just because I let you pick my oranges, you get to ask all kinds of personal questions now?”
I’m not sure if he’s bothered by my question but, judging by the proud grin on his face, I’m pretty sure his “pick my oranges” reference has nothing to do with fruit. I reach up to flick his ear. “I thought they were tangerines.”