Kids noticed how different I was from every other Carstairs on the planet, which led to a lifetime of comments about the “stork getting it wrong,” and other oh-so-amusing jibes.
I loved my parents, my siblings, loved this town, or I wouldn’t have come back after college, but there was always a part of me that felt as if I’d been plunked into Three Harbors by strange forces and not born here like everyone else.
“Sweetheart.” My dad kissed the top of my head, paused, sniffed. “You’ve been playing with cows again.”
You’d think he wouldn’t be able to smell cows on me since he had enough cow smell on himself. You’d think wrong.
“Watley’s.” My mom brought my dad both his coffee and his plate. “Twin heifers.”
I used to find it beyond frustrating that she waited on him like that. Then she caught the flu once—and only once, which is another subject entirely. She’d had four kids. Four! And we’d brought home all sorts of things—germs, foster sons, hedgehogs.
While Mom had been down with the flu, Dad had trashed the kitchen just trying to make cereal, and all became clear to me. She didn’t wait on him because she was the woman and he was the man; she waited on him because he was a slob and she didn’t want him anywhere near her kitchen.
“Trouble?” My dad stirred cream and sugar into his coffee.
“I wouldn’t have been there if there weren’t trouble.”
Most of the time cows had calves all by themselves, sometimes the farmer didn’t even know about it until the cow walked back in with an extra.
“Good point.” He toasted me with his cup, drank.
My father’s face was well lived in—weather crinkles around the eyes, smile lines framed his mouth. His hair had highlights without help from anything but the sun, though his roots were gray. As he said when Mom teased him, at least he still had hair. A lot of his pals didn’t.
“Where’s your car?”
“Owen brought her.”
Silence fell. Everyone but my mother, who was pouring bacon grease into a tin can, stared at me.
“Owen’s back?” Jamie asked.
“It would be a little hard for him to give me a ride if he wasn’t.”
“Ha-ha.” Jamie took the chair across from mine. His plate was so full he really should have used two. “Why’s he here? Where’d you see him? Is it true he’s in explosives detection? What—”
I held up my hand. “I’ll tell you all I know if you just zip it.”
Jamie didn’t have to be told twice. If his mouth was asking questions he couldn’t eat. Not at my mom’s table. So he zipped it, then tucked into the plate as I recited all I knew. Almost.
I wasn’t going to discuss the new breadth to Owen’s shoulders, the fresh calluses on his hands. I especially didn’t plan to relate the same, great taste of his mouth.
My father began to make a waffle sandwich, something he did only when he had someplace else to be.
“Where are you going?”
He glanced up in the middle of squirting syrup on top of the butter he’d spread on two waffles like bread. “I need to check the fence on the north side.”
Joe started to rise, and Dad shook his head, then proceeded to snap bacon in half and position it on a waffle. “One of you take Becca to her apartment. The other can do inventory on the feed. We’ll need to place an order this week.” He slapped the second waffle on top of the first, picked up his sandwich, and left.
I was still frowning at that abrupt departure when Jamie said, “Call it.”
A quarter flipped end over end over end through the air.
“Tails.” Joe shoveled the remains of his breakfast into his mouth.
Jamie slapped the coin onto the back of his hand, peeked and tucked it into his pocket. “You take Becca; I take inventory.”
I kissed my mom then followed my brothers out the door.
My dad’s truck was gone, which was odd. To check a fence he usually took a tractor or an ATV.
“Who won the toss?” I asked.
Jamie winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Chapter 8
Joe was his usual silent self as we headed toward Three Harbors. I didn’t mind. I half dozed with my forehead against the window.
The flash of brilliant blue from Stone Lake brought me out of my stupor in time to witness Owen’s white rent-a-truck parked in front of a cabin. He’d taken Chief Deb’s advice. He hadn’t had much choice. With Reggie in tow it was Stone Lake or … my parents’ house. I could understand his reluctance to return there. Too many people, too much action.
Too many memories.
I closed my eyes. Seeing Owen again had brought back just how hard it had been to get over him. I’d been right to say we should avoid each other as much as possible. Spending any more time with him might erase all the progress I’d made. Not that there’d been all that much. I dreamed of him weekly, thought of him daily, missed him hourly.
Yeah, I was over him all right.
“Lot of sighs coming from over there,” Joe observed.
I made a snoring sound and kept my eyes closed. Because he was Joe, he let me.