Baker snorted in amusement. Ford and Linc scowled. “I only kiss the goats on the head,” Ford replied quietly. Baker laughed even louder.
“Just for your information,” Linc snapped in that slightly whiny—to my California-raised ears—Chicago accent of his. “I don’t kiss the tree. What I do is say a couple, two, three mantras seeking peace from Mother Nature, then I place my brow to the bark of the tree so its aura flows into me, so you can kindly fuck all the way off.”
That one broke Baker. Hanley sniffled a bit, rolled onto his back, and yawned. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing, babe, just my brothers talking about having erotic moments with trees and goats,” Baker managed to cough out between guffaws.
“Oh, nothing wrong with being one with nature. Or the cops. Bet you never get a speeding ticket in Bastian Grange,” Hanley said with a wink at me.
“You too, huh?” I asked and got a snigger of amusement from the foursome of twits. “Fine. I’m going to step outside to urinate and then go eat. You four snickering dolts can lie here amid the nanny berries and chicken shit.” Brewster crowed in my face from his perch atop a heavy pen panel. I pointed a finger at the large rooster. “Don’t get too cocky. I do know how to make chicken soup.”
With that, I exited with a stiff back and a lot of grace for a man with hay in his hair. Sneaking behind the barn, I juggled my sleeping bag and somehow managed to fish my cock out to pee as I watched the sun peeking over the horizon. The cattle were out and about, bored by the looks, and four hens of differing colors trotted by, doing their best to avoid the large puddles. Brewster arrived with a few more hens, tutting at them when he found a worm. Seeing that the chickens were out meant that at least Granny was awake and tended to her flock. She’d be wanting to go to church today, if there were even services. I kind of hoped not. I’d be happy to spend the day just cleaning up around here and relaxing. Even though I slept, it felt as if it wasn’t a deep sleep, which it probably wasn’t when you shared your sleeping space with beings that belched, farted, and snored. And I wasn’t talking about the goats.
Wandering into the house, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and bacon met me at the door. I placed the sleeping bag on the floor and peeked into the bedroom I shared with my son. His bed was empty, the covers in a tangled knot as they usually were. Trying to get the boy to make his bed after he got out of it wasfutile. Much like Baker and Ford, who subscribed to the “Why make it when I’m just going to get into it tonight and mess it up again” group.
Sighing, I left the bed a mess so as not to wake the old gent slumbering peacefully. The living room was busy. Most of our guests, save the man in my bed, were up and dressed, sipping on coffee and watching a talk show of some sort. They all nodded and waved as I walked through to the kitchen. Dahn looked up from a bowl of fruity rings when I entered. He said nothing, just gave me that angry look he’d been wearing more and more the past week or two.
“Morning,” I said as Bella pressed a cup of coffee into my hand. She and Granny were both coiffed and dressed in casual clothes, telling me that church attendance was not on the menu today. Probably the good pastor was out tending to his sodden flock in need of guidance and a dry place to sleep. “Nice to see the sun shining.”
“That it is,” Granny said, passing over two plates with scrambled eggs and crispy bacon to Bella to deliver to the elderly in the living room. “We’re about out of eggs. I went out to check this morning but none of the girls had laid any.”
“Maybe if you tickle them, they’ll drop an egg for you,” I teased, giving Dahn a wink that he did not return. I sat down beside him, slightly curious and a little peeved to be treated so rudely. Bella scuttled out of the kitchen. Granny returned to scrambling more eggs. “Have I done something to you to make you so grumpy with me?” I asked my son.
“No,” his reply was curt and sharp as a knife. “What do you care anyway?”
That one took me aback. I glanced over his head at Granny, who shrugged. My attention went back to my glowering boy.
“I care because I love you,” I replied, placing my forearms and my cup of coffee on the table. “Dahn, I know things have beentopsy-turvy the past few days. Flooding is always scary, but the worst of it is past, and the waters are starting to recede. I’m sure the fair will take place, perhaps with a small delay, but—”
His head snapped up. “I’m not mad about the stupid fair! I’m not mad about anything. I don’t care if you kiss the sheriff! Go do it. I don’t care. You’re stupid, and he’s stupid! Go run away with him just like Dad did!”
“Dahn, son, I’m not going anywhere.” His hurt and fear made me want to weep.
“What. Ever.” He flung his spoon to the table, shoved back and out of his chair, and stormed out the back door with a slam that made me wince.
“Holy hell,” I murmured as I got to my feet. “I wasn’t expecting the whatever reply in that tone until he was at least thirteen.”
“They grow up fast nowadays. Go easy on the boy. He’s scared of losing you like he did his other father,” Granny said while flipping bacon in a cast-iron skillet.
“I wasn’t going to yell at him, I was—”
Baker and Ford came in the back door just as a knock on the front took place. “Manfred Owens is here to get his mother,” Baker informed us.
“Well shit,” Granny muttered, turned off the heat under the skillet, and wiped her hands on her apron. “Where’s Lincoln?”
“Coming in the front,” Ford replied.
“Nothing like a nice peaceful country morning,” I huffed. We all entered the living room just as Linc placed himself inside the front door, arms folded, sight never leaving Manfred as the older rancher walked through the front door. We took up places in all four corners, same stances as Lincoln, while Granny pattered up to Manfred. Winnie Owens was smiling at her son. Bella was seated beside Winnie, her hands folded in her lap, tense as a bird in a room filled with cats.
“Morning, Manfred,” Granny said, glancing at his head. “I ask that you remove your hat in my home.”
“Yes, sorry.” The large man did as asked. “I’m here to take Mama to our place until they get Lilac Hills up to specs.” His gaze darted to his mother sitting beside Bella, Winnie’s age-spotted hand resting on Bella’s arm. “How you feeling, Mama?”
“I feel good, son. It’s been so nice being here with my friends. This is my new friend, Bella Dee Britta. She’s been a godsend!” Winnie patted Bella’s arm gently. “Isn’t that just the prettiest name for the prettiest girl in the county?”
Manfred visibly grimaced but did not comment. “Mama, we’ve got the guest room all set up for you. Why don’t we gather your stuff and head over?”
“I do like the guest room. It looks out over the horses,” Winnie told Bella. “You’ll come visit, won’t you? And bring the book that you’ve been reading in the evenings? I need to find out how that clever Miss Marple solves that murder.”
