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  So, I turn the hose on her, grinning wildly as she screeches from the cold water, stunned as the water drenches her further.

  “Why would you do that!” She’s frozen on the spot, palms up as I blast her with the water.

  “You can’t go inside covered in mud,” I remind her. “Mrs. Nanette will tan your hide if you track up her kitchen.”

  It doesn’t take long for me to realize my mistake. Frankie isn’t flat-chested, or at least I’m realizing that now as the mud clears from her white tank top leaving the practically see-through fabric clinging to her skin. She’s not wearing a bra and her small, yet pert breasts are easily visible now, and like the asshole that I am, I don’t disclose this information right away.

  It feels kind of skeevy to stare at her like this, but my dick doesn’t get the message as it begins to thicken in my jeans. Jesus, the sight of her like this should be illegal.

  “Get my legs, jerk,” she hisses, and I realize I’m no longer spraying her. I’ve pulled my thumb from the end of the hose, and it’s just running at her feet in a wide arch.

  I pull my eyes away before things get out of control and continue spraying her as her hands rub over her skin and clothes to clear away most of the stains.

  I expect her to question why I continue to treat her poorly, but after she’s done rinsing off, she just gets a sad look on her face and walks away, refusing to make eye contact with me. I try not to think about the confusion and pain I’m causing her. Hell, I try not to think about her at all, but then she climbs the front steps of the porch, and casually lies down in the sun, her shirt inching up to reveal the flat plains of her stomach.

  I let myself imagine that she’s teasing me on purpose, that she has my number and knows exactly what it takes to derail my thoughts.

  As much as I’d like to get back to work, I don’t manage to get far from her, stealing glances every chance I get until she’s dried off enough to walk through the house and no doubt get in the shower.

  Just when I thought the sight of her covered in dirty water was appealing, I have to turn around and imagine her without a scrap of fabric covering her tiny frame with soap bubbles kissing every inch of her skin.

  Yep, not a damn thing got done today, and I’m going to pay for that dearly tomorrow.

  I skip supper with her and Mrs. Jacobson tonight, knowing that she’d see right through me when she walked me out to my truck and I couldn’t pull myself away from her the way I’ve done every other night. I planned to torture her all summer long, but it seems those tables have turned.

  Chapter 8

  Frankie

  “I thought you’d love the idea.” Nan frowns as I swirl my spoon in the uneaten oatmeal in front of me.

  She should know better. She should know that expecting me to once again spend the day with Ezekiel Benson doesn’t even make the list of things I want to do today, or in this lifetime for that matter, but she doesn’t because Zeke and I have been lying to her. Not directly of course, but we smile at each other and play nice in front of her. To my grandmother, everything is perfect between that jerk and me.

  It couldn’t be further from the truth. The other day started out nice, just like she predicted, but then it was over. Instead of acting like a decent human being for a couple of hours, Zeke sprayed me with cow-poo water and then turned the frigid water hose on me. Being around him is only asking for misery, and I’ve never been a glutton for punishment. In fact, I avoid unpleasantness at all costs.

  “Daniel isn’t feeling well today, and Ezekiel will need help in town,” Nan continues, nudging my bowl a little closer. She may not catch on about how much Zeke and I hate each other, but she doesn’t miss the fact that I haven’t had much of an appetite lately. How can I when my stomach is always in knots wondering what crap Zeke is going to pull next? “Plus, Mr. Alfred down at the feed store has been dying to meet you.”

  “The feed store?” I look up at her warily.

  “Yes, and Mrs. Jennings at the market knows you’re coming, too. We don’t want to disappoint the townspeople.”

  I want to open my mouth and tell her that I don’t give a flip about meeting other people. I’m struggling enough to get through these long days as it is, but even though I don’t care about the citizens in her small bumpkin town, I don’t want to disappoint her.

  I give her a weak smile, and when her eyebrows raise, I know I won’t be getting up from this table until the bowl in front of me is empty. With any luck, the clumpy oatmeal will irritate my stomach and I’ll puke on Zeke on the ride into town. A wicked smile stretches my lips as I lift the spoon to my mouth.

  Appeased that I’m eating, Nan gets up from the table to carry her coffee cup to the sink, and I feel the air shift before I see Zeke on the other side of the room.

  “How are you this fine morning, Mrs. Nanette?”

  His voice is full of gravel like he just rolled out of bed, and despite my hatred for him, it still doesn’t keep the rough tone from settling deep in places I have no business even thinking about where Zeke is concerned.

  “Every day is a miracle,” she responds, smiling as he leans down to press his lips to her temple. She soaks up the attention.

  Then his golden-speckled hazel eyes turn toward me, and before I know it, he’s at my side. Instinctively, I flinch when he reaches for me, and my ego swells a little when he frowns at my reaction. He may treat me like crap, but he doesn’t want me afraid of him.

  What he doesn’t understand is that I’m very aware that even when his words are hateful, he’s never touched me with an unkind hand. He’s gentle when he pulls me in as we say goodbye. His hands on me while riding the four-wheeler were nothing short of a lover’s embrace.

  I don’t avoid his touch because I’m fearful. I keep my distance because it’s getting hard to hide how my body responds to his even when he’s hateful.

  Even though I shied away from him, it doesn’t stop him from leaning in and brushing his lips across my cheek. I do my best to hide the gasp, but when he pulls away and smirks down at me, I know he noticed. He’s run his nose up the column of my neck. He’s gripped my waist like he never wanted to let me go, but his lips have never been a part of the act. Why the change? Why now, in front of Nan does he let his lips touch me for the first time?

  I’m not brave enough to ask. I can’t even meet his gaze right now. The only thing I can focus on is the zing of electricity still marking my cheek where he pressed his mouth, and I feel like a fool. I know it’s part of the act, but that doesn’t keep my heart from racing in my chest.

  “I brought this for you.” Zeke holds out a worn baseball cap, and despite the apparent age of the thing, it appears to be clean. “The air conditioner doesn’t work in the truck. I figured you didn’t want your hair blowing all over the place.”

  Like it did on the four-wheeler remains unsaid.

  That touch wasn’t harsh either. The memory of his hands as he tried to get control of my unruly locks as we soared across the field makes a shiver run down my spine, and I hate how I react to him. I hate that he has any control of my body’s responses. I hate that even though he’s vicious more often than not, I still cling to the moments he’s unguarded and sweet.

  “Thanks,” I whisper, annoyed that he’s once again put me on the spot in front of Nan.

  His kindness confuses me. Acting polite and infatuated in front of my grandmother is one thing. This baseball cap required forethought and planning. Those facts aren’t lost on me.

  I excuse myself from the table, turning my back to Zeke as I wash my breakfast bowl. It’s going to be a long day, but there’s no sense in putting it off any longer.

  “Just a few things I need from the market,” Nan says as she hands me a list nearly as long as my arm.

  I’m no stranger to grocery shopping, but I don’t see a freezer meal anywhere on this list.

  “What’s a tomatillo?” I mutter as we make our way to the truck.

  Like a gentleman, and no doubt anticip
ating Nan watching from the window, Zeke opens my door for me. It’s the heat of his palm on my back as I climb in that frustrates me, but when I turn to tell him to keep his hands to himself, I see the front curtains flutter. I smile instead. Zeke’s lips turn up as well, but the grin he displayed at the house for Nan’s sake is gone before we even make it out of the driveway.

  Only the sound of the wind whipping through the cab of the truck can be heard. Zeke doesn’t say a word as we drive into town. There’s no music on the radio, and the thing looks so old I’m not sure it would get anything but AM stations if it were turned on. Thankfully, I’ve always found it easy to tune out the world around me. Today is no exception.

  Instead of overthinking his lips on my face, I watch out the window as we fly by field after field.

  “Shouldn’t the grass be green?”

  He only grunts in response, the quick huff of air escaping through his nose.

  Clearly, he isn’t in the mood to talk, so I leave him alone.

  It only takes a million years to get to the feed store, and when we pull up, he doesn’t bother to say a word before climbing out of the truck and heading toward the huge roll-up door on the side.

  He doesn’t need my help. Nan may think I don’t know a thing about the ranch, but if nothing, I’m observant. His dad is usually the one to come back to the ranch with the huge bags of feed, so I know this isn’t a two-person job. It’s merely another attempt for her to thrust us together again, hoping that some sort of feelings for each other will bloom. What Nan isn’t aware of is that a bloody battle is more likely.

  I avoid the door Zeke went through and enter through the front of the store instead. A pretty girl sitting behind the counter smiles as I walk in, and I find myself grinning back at her. She must be what Nan meant when she said the people around here were kind.

  “Can I help you find anything?”

  I almost snort when I look around the economically stocked store. There are all sorts of contraptions I can’t begin to understand their uses on old rusted shelves. Pallets of feed are spaced around, as the slightest scent of farm animals lingers in the air.

  “Is Mr. Alfred in?”

  She grins at me, her cheeks pulling up into a genuine smile as she lifts the phone on the counter to her right.

  “John to the front counter,” she says into the receiver, her voice blaring all around us.

  She chuckles as she hangs up the phone, no doubt finding it funny the way I jerked at the abrupt sound of the intercom.

  “I’m Rebecca.” She holds her hand out to me and I immediately take it in mine even though it’s a little strange to me for a girl close to my age to shake hands in introductions. Back home people usually just hitch their head up a few inches.

  As I take her hand, she stands from the stool she’s been sitting on, and my eyes widen at her rounded belly. Noticing where my attention has landed, her left hand lifts from her side, resting on top of her apparently pregnant belly. A dull gold wedding band encircles her ring finger.

  “Someone told me baby number two is more obvious than the first one. I didn’t believe them until I woke up last week as big as I was at six months with Joseph Jr.”

  I do my best to smile. Baby number two? She can’t be older than eighteen, nineteen at the most.

  “I… umm… I don’t know anything about pregnancies,” I say when nothing else comes to mind. I don’t want to come across as rude, but I’m shocked.

  “They’re not so bad after the first trimester,” she confides.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I tell her, but give her a bright smile. “Do you know what you’re having this time?”

  “Not yet. Momma thinks it’s another boy. That would make my husband happy. He says the world is too dangerous these days for girls.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but a loud clap of hands draws my attention to the side.

  “You must be Frances! I should’ve known you were in here when I saw Ezekiel out back.” An older man walks toward me with a vibrant smile. Instead of offering his hand in introduction the way Rebecca did, he pulls me to his chest, hugging me like a relative he hasn’t seen in a very long time.

  “Mr. Alfred?”

  The man backs away, holding me at arm’s length, his grip firm yet soft on my upper arms as his eyes wash over me. For some reason his perusal isn’t creepy, but I’m still not comfortable with the contact. Affection isn’t a common thing in my household, and I’m always awkward when it’s directed at me.

  “Call me John,” he instructs. “You look just like your momma.”

  His eyes fill with pride, never faltering even when I take a step back.

  “You’re Frances Jacobson?” Rebecca asks, and when I turn back to look at her, I see that she’s already resettled on the stool behind the counter. Pregnancy must be exhausting.

  “Frankie, please,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear and pulling the borrowed baseball cap lower on my head. I realize, I never got the chance to tell her my name since my eyes were glued to her rounded belly. “And it’s Young, not Jacobson.”

  “Frankie,” Rebecca repeats with another soft smile.

  “It was nice to meet you, Frankie,” Mr. Alfred says as he finally takes a step back, giving me desperately needed space. “I’ve got to get back to work, but don’t be a stranger.”

  I nod in agreement, smiling as he walks away.

  “What’s it like?”

  I turn back toward Rebecca to find her leaning over the counter as much as her stomach will allow, smiling at me conspiratorially.

  “What is what like?” I ask, already feeling uneasy with her clear need to gossip.

  “Being around Zeke all day?”

  She bites the corner of her lip as she watches over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone.

  “Zeke?” My head tilts to the side in confusion.

  “Zeke Benson. He works on the Jacobson Ranch, right? All the girls in school had a huge crush on him.”

  “He… umm… he works there, but we don’t like hang out or anything.”

  It’s close to the truth. We only associate with each other when we’re forced to.

  “He’s three years younger than me, but I would’ve dated him in high school if he would’ve even known I was alive.” She peers off into the distance as if she’s conjuring old memories. “Even as a freshman in high school, he drew the attention of every girl in school.”

  I can see that being true. If it weren’t for his bad attitude and the constant sneer marking his otherwise beautiful face, Ezekiel Benson would be every girl’s fantasy. Thankfully, I can see right through his bull crap.

  “We need to get going.”

  Rebecca sighs as Zeke walks up, and I don’t even bother to hide my eye roll.

  “Hey, Zeke,” she coos.

  “Hey, umm,” he begins.

  “Becca,” she offers.

  “Yeah. Hey, Becca.” He turns to me. “Ready?”

  “It was nice to meet you, Rebecca.” I give her a little wave before I turn and walk out the front door, not bothering with pleasantries where Zeke is concerned.

  We both settle back in the truck, and Zeke drives us to the next stop, some former gas station remodeled into what appears to be another feed store. I don’t even bother getting out of the truck this time.

  He’s gone for ages. So long in fact, I rest my head on the seat back and let my eyes flutter closed. The warmth of the sun heats the cab of the truck but the wind flowing through the open windows keeps it from getting too hot. Being alone in the truck is ten times better than being stuck beside his broody butt.

  Eventually, Zeke wakes me when he returns, wrenching the driver’s side door open, the screech its hinges make snapping me from my nap.

  “Must be nice,” he grumbles. “Wish I had the ability to take a nap in the middle of the damn day.”

  I ignore his jab, knowing he’d be even more annoyed if I followed him around all day like a lost puppy.
/>   “How old is Rebecca?”

  “Who?” He pulls out of the parking lot, and the scrunch of his nose makes me believe every word Rebecca mentioned. He doesn’t even know people exist. If they don’t benefit him, they don’t even register.

  “The girl from the feed store. How old is she?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Nineteen or twenty maybe.”

  “She’s pregnant with her second child,” I tell him like it’s news. He’s from around here. He should know these things. “Did she get pregnant in high school?”

  He sighs in frustration. “I have no doubt that girl was pure as the driven snow the day she walked down the aisle. Most girls around here are. She dropped out of high school to get married.”

  It’s my nose’s turn to crinkle. “Really?”

  He glances over at me as he rolls up to a stop sign. “Don’t act so surprised. It’s what the girls do around here. They get married and start popping out babies.”

  “Is her husband older?” At least that would make a little more sense.

  “Joseph?” So he does know who she is. “He’s a year younger, I think.”

  “No freaking way,” I mumble to myself.

  “What,” Zeke taunts. “You don’t want a houseful of babies by the time you turn twenty?”

  “Heck no,” I answer without hesitation. “I don’t even think I want kids.”

  “Too selfish?” He doesn’t bother looking at me, but that doesn’t stop the sting of his words.

  “I don’t have the best examples as far as parents go. I don’t want to regret having a child the way my parents do.”

  His jaw works, but his lips stay closed. He doesn’t ask for more details. He doesn’t look at me with sympathy—which I’m grateful for. He doesn’t speak except for the occasional grunt for the rest of the day.

  So I do the only thing I can think of. I spend the entire day chattering about anything and everything. By the time we climb back in the truck after working through Nan’s grocery list, I’m sick of my own voice, but the ever increasing frown on Zeke’s lips makes it all worth it.