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

“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.”

I do so but not without a grumble, mentally planning the steps of the distraction and siege.

“You’d better hold on. This thing is old and jumpy.” He cranks the engine and a low, throaty rumble escapes as it comes to life, my entire core vibrating with the seat. It lurches as Ben throws it into first gear, chugging and jolting slightly before leaping forward through the tall grass.

Ben steers us down a sandy trail with a sea of trees and then shifts into second and then third gear, the rush of the acceleration exhilarating. It’s too loud to talk and so I happily settle in as the trees whizz by and the sand kicks up a cloud dust behind us, the bumps along the path jarring my head this way and that. I don’t care. We continue down past that path and to another one, and another, until I’m sure we’re in an orange grove maze. I don’t know how Ben knows where he’s going.

We must be half a mile away from the house when Ben takes another sharp right turn that would have thrown me right into his chest if not for the seat belt cutting into my neck. He pulls over a crest and suddenly we’re overlooking a sea of trees and other properties and, beyond that, far in the distance, blue water.

“Wow,” escapes my mouth as I stare out at the mesmerizing view, no longer paying attention to the path Ben drives along, until he pulls up in a sandy spot next to a yellow farm truck, its tire flat and a giant rust hole eating into the side panel. Ben kills the engine and we climb out.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” I hear him say, and I can feel his eyes on me as I just stand there, staring out at the view. Wandering over to the closest tree, he gently grasps at the small green sphere hanging from it. “You should see this place in spring, with all of these navel orange trees in bloom and the air filled with this flowery-honey smell. It’s something else.” Glancing over his shoulder, he must see my smirk because he quickly adds, “And don’t make fun of me for saying that until you actually see it. And smell it.”

“It does sound pretty,” I admit, still a bit in awe that a place like this exists so close to my home. “You know a lot about citrus farming?”