Riding with the sun setting along the horizon, with the smell of cedar thick in the air, helps me feel a little more grounded. That is, until I turn down a dirt road and find myself staring at the little farm house. A dirty sign stands off to the side. Lovelace Farm.
The house is modest, a white one-story ranch with a wide front porch. In the dusk, it glows, with warm lights shimmering from one window. But the rest of the house is dark, and it’s that darkness that gives me chills.
“I’m sorry, brother. You had a beautiful dream.” I idle in the driveway while heat burns my eyes. Rolling hills with row after row of small hedges surround the house. A broken swing sways beneath the branches of a giant oak off to the side.
It’s so peaceful here. So different from the chaotic streets of Boston. At the same time, though, it’s eerie, almost like I can sense my brother. That’s my biggest regret. That I didn’t visit him. That I didn’t take the time to meet his wife and daughter and see their little farm.
That I didn’t call him back that night.
I just was so pissed at him for not returning to Boston and helping our parents. But now, it’s painfully obvious how wrong I’ve been. And somehow, I need to make it right.
Pulling closer to the house, I turn off the engine. I’m taking off my crappy helmet when the front door flies open and a girl stalks out. Her long chestnut hair blows in the wind, barely masking the scowl on her pretty face.
“If you’re looking for the Lone Star biker bar, it’s about a half mile back that way.” Her words are twangy, a little like Reese Witherspoon in Walk the Line.
She points to the left before she pushes her black-rimmed glasses up her nose. God, she’s cute with these big eyes and quirky frown. What does her t-shirt say? I squint, trying to read the words. Frack Off is written in big black letters across her t-shirt that peeks out from her hoodie.
When my eyes reach her face, she looks more pissed. “Do me a favor. When you leave, turn that way down the drive or you’ll wake the baby.” She nods toward the circular drive I just came down before she freezes and cocks her head. The sound of a baby crying breaks the silence.
“Dang it!” She turns on her heel and is halfway through the door when I call out to her.
“Sorry about waking the baby, but I’m looking for Katherine.” She stops mid-stride, and I motion toward the house. “Is she here?”
She turns back to me, her eyes widening. “And you are?”
“Brady.” I swing my leg over the bike and step closer. “Cal’s brother.”
Her eyes widen. “I… You…” She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry! Yes, I’ve been expecting you.” Big hazel eyes stare back from behind her glasses, which she pushes up her pert little nose. Did I mention she’s cute? Mentally, I slap myself for ogling somebody’s babysitter. Clearly, she’s helping out Katherine.
“Give me one sec.” She darts into the house but leaves the front door wide open. I stand on the porch and kick off the mud from my boots. When she returns, she’s holding a chunky little bundle who has one hell of a set of lungs on him. Or her. I can’t tell from this angle.
The girl winces, now clearly going deaf from the little wailer howling in her ear, and holds out her hand. “I’m Katherine.”
It’s my turn to be shocked. Who the hell put a teenager in charge of the farm? She can’t be older than eighteen. I look at her hand a second too long because she starts to frown again.
“Sorry.” I reach out, surprised that her grasp is firm. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m Brady Shepherd, Cal’s brother.”
She nods, still frowning. “You don’t look anything like him. It caught me off guard. He was an accountant, and you…” Her eyes dart to the Harley behind me. “You’re obviously not.”
I want to smile. Cal would be amused someone is finally taking him seriously as a number cruncher.
“No, you’re right about that. I’m definitely not an accountant.”
We stand, staring at each other. She bites her plump bottom lip, and my eyebrows lift. “Can I come in?”
She blows her bangs out of her face. “Yes, of course. Please.” She waves me in behind her.
The living room looks worn in but comfortable with a floral couch and an overstuffed recliner. Knick-knacks dot the bookshelf, and the hardwood floors look well traveled but clean. But what catches my attention is how good everything smells. Fresh, like clean laundry and fruit.
She motions toward the couch. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks.” I feel bad asking her for anything with that screaming baby in her arms.
I sit on the edge of the couch, not wanting to get it dirty. I should’ve kicked my boots off, but it feels weird to do that in another person’s house.
Katherine sits in the recliner near me and coos in her daughter’s ear. Finally the little hellraiser calms down.
She glances up at me, looking relieved, and asks, “Do you want to hold her?”
I stare at her.
This is… weird. Why does this girl want me to hold her baby? Shit, she’s young to be a mother. “No, you probably don’t want me holding her. I have dirt from about two counties on me.” I start to shift uncomfortably when she stills.