One Bride for Five Brothers Page 6

  “It’s just a short term rental… you know. Word gets around,” my dad explains.

  I nibble on a corner of toast. “Short-term? So… are you on assignment? What’s your new project?”

  Dad stirs his coffee. “No… I mean yes. There's a new assignment. But it's not here.”

  My eyebrows go up. “What do you mean? We just got here, didn’t we? How long will you guys be gone?”

  Dad finishes the last couple bites of his eggs, then stands up and scrapes his plate into the garbage and rinses it in the sink.

  “Dad? What's going on?”

  He turns around, holding his hands up with the palms out. “I know we just got here, but… I mean, we haven't really unpacked yet, right?”

  “What do you mean?” I look at my mother. “Mom? Are you going to say anything?”

  She smiles at me, sipping her coffee, almost like she's having a conversation with the fairies that live at the bottom of her mug instead of me.

  “You're not saying we’re leaving, right? Tell me you're not saying that. Dad?”

  He doesn't say anything for a second. He looks at the ceiling. He looks at the sliding glass doors.

  “Dad? Seriously. What is going on here?”

  “We need to go to Wyoming,” my mother's sighs.

  I glance at her, shocked. I can't remember the last time that she said anything so literal, so commonplace. And the words came just the right out of her like she talks all the time. But when was the last time I heard her? Honestly, I can't remember.

  “Wyoming? What's back in Wyoming? Why now? Literally.… we been here two days!”

  “White Buffalo,” my dad explains, his voice animated. “It’s the same ranch, remember? But there’s a new calf, even. This is so exciting! A chance to show people something they've never seen before, something mystical to the Native Americans people. A chance to create empathy…”

  “I don’t want to go,” I blurt out. “You guys can handle the yurt without me.”

  My dad pauses, squinting. “If you don't want to come, your grandmother said you could stay with her. Until school starts again, that is. If you want.”

  I tap my finger against the formica countertop. “No… I want to stay here. I don't want to go, like, at all.”

  Dad sighs. “Vanessa… I know this is sudden. We usually like to spread things out more, but this just came up. Just got the call the calf was born yesterday.”

  “That’s amazing. I know you’ll make a beautiful film. But, seriously. I mean it, Dad. I'm not going. I'm going to stay here.”

  “It's not an option,” he shrugs. “I already canceled the lease. The moving truck will be back here in two days. We've got a real log cabin all lined up this time! No tent!”

  Something bubbles up inside me, something angry. All of a sudden I can't stand the idea of packing up again. Not that I loved being in college for two years, but at least I wasn't roaming all over the place constantly. At least I got to stay there long enough to get a pile of dirty laundry going.

  “Can't I take the lease?” I suggest. “I mean, I'm an adult. I could do it.”

  He glances at my mom, who is still smiling at her coffee cup. Dammit, I sort of want to throw my toast at her.

  “There's really only two options: come with us, or go to grandma's,” he insists.

  “No, there are more options than that,” I reply. I feel myself getting red, getting angry. I know I am acting a little bit childish, but what the hell? Why am I being treated like a 12-year-old? “You know what, I'm going to just take a little walk,” I announce.

  Stuffing my feet hastily into my Converse shoes, I head out the back door, aiming for a break in the trees.

  I put the kitchen far behind me, my parents behind me. I try to breathe in, to appreciate the nature around me. It's a beautiful place, I remind myself. Nature is soothing, dammit. Soothe me!

  I don't know how long I wander around, but eventually I find a fallen tree. It's all smooth from the sun and the rain, silvery, almost like stone. I run my palm against it, feeling the silky texture. In one end, the undergrowth is dark with tiny black growths. The blueberries.

  Dad's right, these won’t be ready for another month or so, maybe two. I hear a twig snap behind me.

  My dad gives me a half salute as he marches over the path, his walking stick in one hand.

  “I swear I wasn't following you,” he explains. “It's just a coincidence.”

  “Whatever, it's fine,” I sigh, leaning heavily against the fallen tree. I check around my feet to make sure I’m not standing in poison ivy or anything.

  “Look, Vanessa… the white Buffalo is a pretty rare opportunity for us,” he says in a low voice. “Your mom's been trying to arrange this for a long time. A new calf is hugely exciting. You're gonna love it.”

  I just shake my head, biting my lips together. I don't know what to say to him.

  “Or you could stay at grandma's house, like we said,” he continues mildly, repeating himself with an annoying calmness. “You know. For school.”

  I inhale deeply. I really need to tell them.

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” comes another voice. Stan steps into a shaft of light off to the side, a basket in his hand.

  My dad blinks in surprise. “Oh, hello there… You must be Stan. I'm Earl. Sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet before.”

  Stan strides forward a few steps, sticking out his hand to shake my father's hand. I watch how their hands clasp, how it is such a simple gesture of masculinity, like a pact.

  “Well, we talked on the phone, right? How's the house?”

  My dad grimaces, brushing his hair back with his hand. “Actually it’s great but… did Charlie not tell you? We have to be moving on sooner than expected.”

  Stan rocks back slightly, then crosses his arms over his wide, muscular chest.

  “Did this just happen? I didn’t get a chance to talk to Charlie today. Is something wrong?”

  He cuts his eyes toward me for a split second, then back to my dad.

  “No, no. Nothing is wrong. We just got an assignment in Wyoming.”

  “An assignment in Wyoming,” Stan repeats, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, we were just discussing it…” my dad continues.

  Stan looks around, still processing. “Oh. Yes, well. I was just checking on the blueberries. I wasn't trying to interrupt, um, I mean…”

  He looks up at me, his eyes dark and intense. I shake my head tightly.

  “I'd like to rent the house,” I blurt out. “Myself. Alone. Can we talk about that?”

  “Vanessa!” my dad objects.

  “Are you sure about that?” Stan says slowly.

  “I'm sure,” I insist.

  “She's not,” my dad barks, exasperated in a way I don't think I've ever seen him. “She's a student. She's broke, for Pete's sake. She's not going to be able to rent a house on her own.”

  “I'm not a student,” I say.

  My dad’s mouth opens and closes mutely. He narrows his eyes at me.

  “I'm not,” I repeat. “I wanted to talk to you about it, but… I'm not. It's not for me. I'm not going back. And I'm not going to Wyoming either.”

  My dad raises his arms and then lets them fall, slapping his hands against his thighs.

  “Well, this is a fine how do you do!”

  I stare up at Stan, trying to read his expression. He squints into the dark, glancing away and then back toward me.

  “When will you be leaving?” he asks my dad in a low voice.

  “The truck will be here in a couple of days,” my dad finally shrugs. “Anita and I were planning on taking off tomorrow, but…”

  “We've got a cabin,” Stan nods, looking off into the distance. “Back of the orchard. Nothing fancy. It’s part of the original homestead.”

  “What are you saying?” my dad asks.

  Stan looks at me, his gaze fierce and intense. Even though we've just met, I feel a certain loyalty to him, a certain protecti
on when he's around me.

  “I agree about the house… the house you’re in. It's big. It's a lot to manage for Vanessa alone. But the cabin is small, practically just one room. You know anything about farm work?”

  My dad leans on his walking stick, jamming the heel of his other hand between his eyes as though struck with a headache.

  “She doesn't know anything about farming,” he sighs.

  “I’ll figure it out,” I shrug.

  “Vanessa, be reasonable!”

  “Are you serious?” Stan asks me.

  “Absolutely,” I nod.

  “Vanessa!”

  I walk over to my dad, kicking away leaves and trailing vines. I squeeze his arm and try to catch his eye.

  “Dad, I want to do this,” I say sincerely. “I'm grown, now. I make decisions for myself. It'll be my new adventure, okay?”

  He squints his eyes closed, shaking his head slowly.

  “Your mother's going to kill me,” he finally says.

  “She probably won't say a word about it,” I joke. After a few long seconds, he gives me a sad smile and then starts to walk away.

  Chapter 7

  Tim

  Hank likes to whistle. He does this thing while we’re working that sometimes sounds nice, and sometimes irritates the shit out of me. He climbs the short ladder, pushing himself among the branches to soft some deadwood near the crown, his cheeks puffed out as he whistles some kind of old-fashioned opera or some bullshit like that.

  “Pick up those branches, will you?” he complains, grunting as the chucks the deadwood out into the space between trees.

  “I've got my own work to do. Pick up your own branches,” I counter.

  “What? Flipping through catalogs? Don’t you have anything more useful to do?”

  “For your information, I'm looking for cut worms. Stan said he thought some of these trees were infected, I'm trying to find the nest.”

  I hear him sawing, watch the leaves shake as branches wiggle back and forth.

  “Since when do you do that? That Stan’s job.”

  “Yeah, well, he headed over towards the Geller house this morning. I think he wants to check up on Vanessa or whatever.”

  Hank just grunts. I can't see his face through the leaves. But he doesn't start whistling again, so I know he is thinking about it.

  “She's really something, huh?” I call out.

  No answer.

  “She got those big titties like you like," I yell out, pushing aside some branches, trying to peer up into the top of the trees. I don't see any cut worms out here at all. But then again, I don't exactly know what I'm supposed to be looking for.

  “Right? Hank? She's pretty hot.”

  He hops down from the stool, leaning over to pick up the fallen branches and chuck them into the back of the cart. He glowers at me as he repositions the stool under the next tree, his saw in his opposite hand.

  “Come on… I know you liked her. Why won't you admit it?”

  “She's a college girl, Tim,” he finally mutters, his voice so low I can barely hear it. “She got a whole lot of life ahead her.”

  “She sure seemed to enjoy herself,” I counter.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” he snarls.

  I know there's nothing I can say at this moment to convince him to chill out. I know exactly where his head is at: Mandy.

  She was head cheerleader when me and Tom were in high school. She was a rare beauty with jet black hair and big, almond shaped eyes. Sturdy and strong. When we brought her home, she said she loved us all.

  We got used to it, having her around. She practically moved in with us, organizing the house, acting like a proper wife. She kept us all happy and satisfied and she could cook too.

  Mandy helped us understand that we had to take turns, rather than just falling on her like a football team every night. She was game for the multiple partners, but she explained that sometimes her tender bits needed a little recovery time.

  And she also showed us that we didn’t have to compete for her affection. There were no winners. We all won, with Mandy.

  I don't know what happened. I guess she just got bored after a while. When fall came around, Mandy decided she was ready to go to college. She said she thought we knew. She said we should definitely should have known a woman wouldn't just give up everything to hang out on a farm like it was some kind of secret cult or something. That one hurt.

  I guess the isolation got to her. Maybe the work. Maybe having five giant dicks wagging in her face every day. That's got to be a lot.

  I imagine it takes a special kind of woman.

  But Hank took it super hard. He took a while to come around to Mandy. He was suspicious at first. And he was suspicious that Stan said that this was all a good idea. He thought we all should find our own women.

  But as Charlie pointed out, if we did that, we'd end up with a bunch of small slices of land chopped up again. Like the Geller house, it would feel separate. Eventually we would shave off so many pieces we would never be together again.

  The solution was all Stan’s idea. One woman would keep us all together.

  Hank came around after spending more time with her. He said falling for her was like falling down a flight of stairs. When she left, he looked like he’d broken something. We hated seeing him like that. There hasn’t been anyone since then, and it’s been a really long time.

  “Well, I like her tits, I can tell you that,” I continue, pretending like he’s listening. “They taste like honey. You should try it.”

  Hank jumps down, glaring at me and hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

  “You can do what you like. I'm fine. I like being a monk. If she's game… whatever. I won’t stand in your way. But maybe one time was it. Maybe she won't even come back.”

  “Well maybe she will!”

  He jerks his head to his right, scowling.

  “Hank, maybe you should just give her a chance. Would that be so hard? I mean, it’s all up to her anyway, right?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey, there’s no need to be such a dick about it. We’re just having a conversation here!”

  He holds up a hand. “No, I mean it, shut up! Do you hear that?”

  I shake my head, then stop to listen. I hear voices, I guess. Low voices… Stan? There’s something weird about it, something tense.

  “This way,” Hank says, gesturing with his chin.

  We walk through the rows, heading toward the woods that border the orchard. The voices get louder, coming in wisps and gradually gaining strength. As we head into the shadow of the trees, I see flash of violet off to our left. Stan and Vanessa are standing there, talking with Vanessa's dad.

  “Oh, excuse us,” Hank mutters. “We thought we heard voices.”

  The scene is tense, with Vanessa glancing urgently between her dad and Stan, shifting from foot to foot over and over.

  “I was just explaining to Earl that we have a cabin in orchard. That Vanessa could live there.”

  “Live there?” Hank repeats.

  “What's going on?” I ask.

  Vanessa looks at me, her mouth open slightly, her eyes wide and startled. I want to put my arms around her, to calm her down. She seems so lost right now.

  “We need to be leaving much sooner than we expected,” her dad says. He purses his lips, working his jaw back and forth. “It's a shock to us all, but that's what we need to do.”

  “I'd like to stay,” she says quietly.

  “Vanessa, let's talk about this in the house.”

  “No!” she insists. “I'd like to talk about it right now. Stan offered the cabin to me, and a job as well. That was your concern, right? So now you're fine, right?”

  “Vanessa…” he says in a warning voice. “We can talk about this. In. The. House.”

  “So if they’re giving me a job,” she continues, “and I’ve got a safe place to live, then what? How could you possibly say no? I'm a grown woman. I’ll decide this for myself
.”

  Her dad twists his walking stick in his hand, gripping it tightly. I can tell he's extremely frustrated, but he’s also struggling to acknowledge her status as an adult who could make her own decisions.

  “She’ll be safe here with us,” Hank says softly. I glance at him in surprise. “There's five of us to look after her. Anything she needs… it will be fine.”

  I watch Stan try to suppress a sly smile. “Yeah… it's really no trouble. Nobody's using the cabin right now. It'll be nice to have somebody looking after it. A woman’s touch, like they say.”

  I try to catch Hank's eyes, to see how he softened so quickly, but he's deliberately not looking at me. Vanessa's dad shakes his head slowly, pressing his lips together.

  “I hope you change your mind,” he says softly, then turns and walks back down the path.

  Once he is out of earshot, Stan reaches out to steady Vanessa by holding her elbow. She breathes out slowly through her puffed cheeks.

  “That was… amazing,” she finally says. “I can't believe that happened!”

  “So you're okay?” I ask.

  She fans herself lightly with her fingertips. “Yeah! I mean… I've been wanting to tell them for so long, and now it's just… I mean, what a relief!”

  She stares up at Stan, delight illuminating her features. The broader she smiles, the deeper her dimples get. Finally she throws her arms around his neck, squeezing and making excited noises.

  “This is so great! You really saved the day!”

  “Well… you're welcome,” Stan shrugs, looking around with confusion and alarm. Even though he thinks of himself as the hero in every story, it got to be weird to have someone admiring him so obviously.

  “So… you want to see your new house?”

  “Hell, yes, I do!”

  “All right, well… right this way!” Stan chuckles, offering her his elbow to take. He leads her back out of the woods toward the orchard, and we all trek out between trees, passing by rows and rows to older parts. She squeals with excitement when the cabin comes into view and I glance at Hank, grimacing.

  It's not much of anything, really. She should probably be grossed out. It's literally a one room log cabin in the middle of an orchard, but the way she's skipping toward it you'd think it was a magical gingerbread house. As we approach, I catch sight of Tom and Charlie, banging around the blue pickup truck off to the side. They wave when they see us, trotting forward to greet us.