Rules of Protection (Tangled in Texas #1)(75)

“Jake reminds me of a pigeon sometimes,” she said.

I looked at her strangely, but didn’t say anything. Jake definitely didn’t make me want to fall asleep. I wouldn’t have minded hearing him coo soft words in my ear, though.

The birds pecked at the ground, bobbing their heads as they walked. Floss was mesmerized by them. “Jake always finds his way home,” she said. “Even if it does take him awhile.”

Her eyes were watery. She sniffled, pulled a tissue from the pocket of her sundress, and wiped her nose. Not only did she love Jake, but she admired and respected him. He was the son she’d never had. Not wanting to embarrass her, I didn’t linger on the emotion welling up in her voice.

“I’d never spent time on a farm before now, but there’s no better way to relax than being outdoors,” I told her.

“Want to take a little field trip with me?” Floss asked. “I’m going to pick some wild blackberries. I could use an extra hand.”

“Sure…well, if Jake will let me. But he’ll probably handcuff me to you.”

She grinned. “He’s a rotten scoundrel sometimes, isn’t he?”

We found Hank and Jake in the pole barn repairing the gate to the colt’s stall. Hank wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief as Jake kneeled to put the last screw into the hinge.

“What happened to Cowboy?” I asked.

Jake finished drilling. “He left when his pager went off. A barn fire on the other side of Rickety Bridge, I believe.” Jake grabbed a bottle of water off the top of the post and downed half of it.

“Have any objections to me picking berries with Floss?”

“Depends,” he said, grinning mischievously. “How many pies is she making me?”

Floss grabbed a couple of white buckets from the small stack against the wall. “One. I’m using the rest for jam.”

He turned his attention to her. “Two, and we got a deal.”

“Jacob Ward! You can’t bargain this girl’s freedom with pies.”

Bemused, Jake poked her some more. “I could ask for three. After all, I am injured.”

“Two, and that’s all,” Floss said. “And if I use sugar instead of salt, you should consider yourself lucky.”

Hank got a kick out of their exchange. “Floss, if you two are going to pick those berries, then you better get a move on. It’s supposed to storm again this afternoon. We’re going to finish up, board the horses, then we’ll be done for the day.”

“Then we’ll be back before the rain starts,” she promised.

…

Automatically, I assumed we’d be picking berries somewhere on the property. I was delighted when Floss told me to get in the truck. She drove us a few miles down a dirt road and pulled into a private drive resembling an overgrown trail.

Two long muddy ruts marked the way, divided by a median of tall grass and small shrubs that scraped the belly of the truck. She slowed, veering around large water-filled potholes in the tracks as we bounced around the cab.

Floss parked at the fence line, grabbed the white buckets, and ducked under the barbed fence. We furthered our quest into the forest with me right behind her. By the time we got to the blackberry bushes, I could no longer see the truck and had worked up a sweat.

“Whew!” I said, wiping at my forehead with the back of my hand. “It’s a bit of a hike.”

Floss grinned, not looking the least bit winded. “Wait until we head back carrying buckets of fruit. Good exercise.” She examined the bushes for a moment in silence. “Not all the berries are ripe. Don’t pick anything pink or red, just the black ones.”

There weren’t many black ones, but plenty of red and pink. “Not many ripe ones, Floss. Maybe we came out too early.”

“We did, but it had a purpose. I was checking to see if the bushes were overgrown. I’ll have to get my loppers after these ornery things soon and prune them back, plus it’s better to harvest the berries by hand after it rains. You don’t run into as many bees.”

“Is there a right way to do this?” I asked, brushing my hand along the deep-veined leaves before lifting a large juicy blackberry with my palm.

“Watch for thorns,” Floss said, plucking a couple of berries and tossing them into her bucket.

We picked next to each other, then worked in opposite directions. If it wasn’t for my ankles getting scratched by the scrubby brush, I probably would’ve enjoyed myself. I guess it was my own stupid fault for wearing sandals.

Bright sunlight beat down on us, burning my limbs and scalp with its consistently hot rays. I ignored the heat and focused on the pleasant, woodsy scent emitted from the green space around me. It reminded me of Jake, except his scent had an underlying citrusy tone. It was almost strange that I could recall the undertones of his scent so easily, when I couldn’t even remember the sound of my mother’s voice. Being in this place, surrounded by Jake’s loved ones, had only left me aching for the family I had lost. Yet, I’d never felt closer to them.

Juice from the berries already stained the bucket’s interior, as well as my fingers, when Floss suggested we take a break. We left our buckets and sat in the shade of some fountain-like trees a few yards away.

I plucked a dandelion out of the ground and threaded it into the hair above my ear as Jake had done before. How he had smiled at me afterward made me feel prettier, more feminine than I’d ever felt before. Like the flower had anything to do with it.