After knocking for the third time with no answer, I worried. I glanced over my shoulder at the line of cars and decided to swat my worry away. Surely one of the brothers was at home. Left with very few options—either walk in uninvited or do a quick survey of the property—I decided to take my pie and go around the back. I figured walking in uninvited would be my last resort.
It took me a bit to circumnavigate the house. Machine parts littered the path. I noticed a busted, old CAT earthmover, dull yellow with patches of rust, sat behind a giant detached garage. I made a mental note to check inside the garage before I walked into the house.
Thankfully, I spotted a red head with a broad, muscular back about a hundred paces from the back of the house, standing on some sort of covered deck. I squared my shoulders and marched to the structure, seeing that either Beau or Duane were tending to a large, smoking grill.
When I was about twenty feet away, the redhead—his back still turned—said, “Do you have the sausage?”
He was Duane. My heart knew.
The butterflies in my stomach flew to my chest, made breathing a labor. I was nervous. But I was also here, and I’d committed to this ambush. I wasn’t going to shrink away now, even if dinner as bribery was the price.
But I did have to clear my throat of my nerves before responding, “No. But I have apple pie.”
Clearly startled, Duane turned fully around, his eyes moving up and down my form. He was surprised and his features were a cloudy mess of stunned relief. I felt a good bit of tension leave my bones when he finally smiled like he couldn’t help it and rushed forward.
Duane intercepted me on the second step leading to the deck and, paying no heed to the dish in my hand, wrapped his arms around my body and gave me a big, getting-down-to-business kiss. His mouth and hands felt wonderful and possessive, one slipping under my sweater and shirt to grip the bare of my back. I liked the kiss so much, I almost dropped the pie.
Too soon, but really after a full minute or more, the kiss was over and he was nuzzling my ear. We were both breathing a bit hard.
“Goodness, I missed you,” I said on a sigh, loving the texture and feel of his beard against my jaw, and his hot breath on my neck.
“I missed you, too, Jessica.” He nibbled on my ear, whispering my name like it was a dirty word—but not a curse word—a dirty word. Something erotic and scandalous. I had an odd thought then, that I liked my name on his lips more when it was whispered.
We were interrupted by a voice from behind me. “Is that pie?”
Duane stiffened a little, but didn’t relinquish his hold on me. Instead, after releasing a frustrated sounding exhale, he lifted his head from my neck. Likewise, I glanced over my shoulder and found Duane’s mirror image strolling toward us; an easy, friendly smile claiming Beau’s features.
But they weren’t really a mirror image of each other. I decided one of the main differences between Duane and Beau was that Beau’s smiles were easy, freely given; Duane’s smiles were difficult, hard won, and I’d learned to treasure each one.
“I’ll take that,” Beau said as he breezed past, grabbing the pie from my hand. As he crossed to a picnic table on the deck and placed the dish on top of it he added, “I do love apple pie.”
“Don’t eat any of that,” Duane said as we both watched Beau lean close and sniff it.
“I can’t eat it, I don’t have a fork…yet.” Beau looked around the deck like he was searching for something.
Besides the picnic table and the large smoking grill, the twenty-by-twenty-foot deck had several Adirondack chairs, a big wooden chest that I suspected was actually a cooler (likely full of beer), and an old wooden hutch painted lime green. The exposed wood ceiling was strung with white Christmas lights, which would come in handy once the sun set.
Beau walked over to the lime green hutch and dug through a few drawers. Watching his brother, Duane shook his head like he was disgusted.
“He’s looking for a fork,” he explained, his hands slipping from my body, but then—in the same movement—tucking me under his arm. “Don’t eat any of that pie. It’ll ruin your dinner.”
“I’m just going to taste it.”
Duane looked like he was going to protest again, but I cut him off with my question, “When did y’all get this deck? I don’t remember it being here.”
“Drew, Billy, and Jethro built it for Momma two years ago. She likes having dinner out here, when the weather is nice.”
Duane was still speaking about his mother in the present tense. It made my heart hurt a bit. I didn’t correct him, but I did give him a squeeze.
“I hate to ask, because I don’t want you to think I’m not happy to see you,” Duane pulled away, just far enough that he could look into my eyes, “but what are you doing here other than to bring me pie?”
Cletus walked past us at just that moment, and Billy wasn’t far behind. This was good timing because now I could announce my plans to all of them.