Chapter Two
Tanya
I climb into his truck, wondering what the fuck I’m doing. I’m not an angel, not by anyone’s standard, but I don’t usually jump into bed with men I just met. Other than a few drunken mishaps that almost turned into mistakes, I’ve only had sex with two men. One was a long-term boyfriend that I’d planned to marry, only to find out he was seeing another girl on the side. The other was the TA in my English Lit class. He was my rebound guy that taught me love and sex did not have to go hand in hand. He also taught me sex could be a hell of a lot of fun, even when your heart wasn’t involved.
“Buckle up, baby,” he says as he slides behind the steering wheel.
His stormy blue eyes are trained on me, waiting to see if I do as I’m told. My fingers click the seatbelt in place as I take in his features. His face is wide and full of harsh angles, giving him a rough around the edges kind of look.
He has high cheekbones that help to accentuate his beautiful eyes. His thick lashes are a shade darker than his honey brown hair, making the blue in his eyes pop out even more. His brows are thick but not overly so, and one has a scar right down the center of it, leaving a thin line that is easily visible.
“How’d you get the scar?” I ask before I can think better of it.
“When I was eight, I decided to ride my dad’s prize stallion without his permission.” His hand instinctively goes to his brow, giving the spot a rub. “I barely got my legs over the saddle before he bucked me off. I came down on a rock, knocked my ass out, and got this scar to remind me that what I did was stupid.”
We go silent as he starts the truck and we start heading down the driveway. I keep my eyes focused on the scenery as I try to decide if I’m making a mistake. The simple fact that I haven’t thought of my father or his plans for me since this guy touched my hand makes the decision for me. I’m gonna enjoy this while I can.
“You want to tell me your name, cowboy?” I ask, pretending to be aloof. “I figure you’ll be wanting me to moan it later.”
“Major,” he replies, his eyes locked on the road as a cocky grin spreads across his face. “And you won’t be moaning my name; you’ll be screaming it.”
I swear his words has my clit pulsing and my coochie convulsing with need. My brain may be a bit hesitant, but my hoo-hah is ready to go. Where my girly bits go, my brain is sure to follow. If only to remind me of how bad of a fuckup I am.
“We’ll see, cowboy.” I reply, trying my best to sound calm. “Maybe you’ll be screaming my name.”
“If that happens, you’ll be changing last names as soon as the courthouse opens on Monday morning.” He peeks over at me and winks. “Tanya Brady has a nice ring to it.”
I try to ignore the way my heart flutters at his words. Instead, I further take in his appearance. Looking at his profile, I see his nose has been broken. Judging by the multiple curves, I would guess more than once. Still, it does nothing to distract from his beauty. Yes, he is beautiful, ruggedly beautiful.
His hair is cut close on the sides, nearly shaved to the scalp. The top is longer, but not overly so. He doesn’t have quite the faux hawk his brother wears, thank goodness, but he does have a touch of one. Surprisingly, it looks good on him. It is brown with more than a few streaks of blond weaving through the strands. With the way the sun is shining on it now, it reminds me of the fresh honey that my grandpa used to harvest from his own hives on the farm. It wasn’t the golden color that you see when you get honey from the stores. It was a mixture of gold and melted caramel that seemed dark one moment and light the next.
His chin is covered in a dusting of whiskers that are a shade darker than his hair, matching his lashes and brows. At first glance, I’d assumed he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. Now, I realize he works hard to keep it just the right length. It is perfectly trimmed and fit to run right along his jawline.
“You want to call your mom before we get to my place?” he asks, reaching to the dash to kick the air conditioner up just a bit.
My head jerks back at the complete ridiculousness of his question. “I’m not in the habit of informing Momma when I’m about to have a one-night stand.”
“This is not gonna be a one-night stand.” He growls as his fingers fist tightly around the steering wheel. “I meant, call her and tell her about the house.”
I’m so stuck on the first part of what he says that it takes a second for the last part to work its way into my brain. I take a second, thinking of everything he said about the house, wishing I could take him up on the offer. Even if I did, there is no way Momma would accept his or his brother’s charity.
“Momma won’t even consider it,” I reply, knowing I’m right. “She’s too proud to accept handouts from anyone.”
“It’s not a handout.” He growls again, his fingers turning white from the pressure on the steering wheel. “I was serious about us needing someone in that house.”
I can tell he’s aggravated but have no idea why. We just met; he can’t really want to be providing for my family and me. Neither can his brother for that matter. I may be Hadley’s family, but I’m a stranger to them.
“We bought the house for our Mom, but she moved to Florida,” he says, seeming a tad bit calmer. “If we leave the place empty, we’re just asking for trouble.”
I want to ask why his mother moved away, but I decide to go with something safe. “What kind of trouble?”
“The house is in the country; the nearest neighbor is nearly four miles down the road, so there’s nobody around to keep an eye on it.” Finally pulling out of the long ass drive to Hadley’s house, he turns right before looking over at me. “It’s not just the house; there is the barn and a few buildings. When we bought the place, we bought the farm equipment with it. That shit cost a mint. We don’t want nosy kids in there fucking with it.”
His words actually make sense. My parents lived in town when I was kid. Even when Dad and Momma got a divorce, both stayed inside the city limits, but my grandparents lived on a farm about ten miles out of town. I remember that Grandpa used to hate to leave the place overnight because he said teenagers would show up and do stupid shit like driving their truck through his soybean fields or skinny dipping in the cow pond. Still, none of that is going to matter to Mom. She’s still going to see it as charity.
“I’ll tell her about the offer, but not right now,” I reply, turning my head to look out the passenger side window. “But, I wouldn’t hold my breath for her to say yes.”
He doesn’t reply, but just keeps driving down the road. Silence reigns for the next few minutes as I watch the scenery pass by us. Finally, we pull into a driveway. This one isn’t as long as the one to Hadley and her husband’s house, but it’s not missing it by much. When we finally get to the house, I have to hold back my giggle. The place is beautiful, but it is in no way the home of a man like Major.
It’s a one-story ranch style house covered with a mixture of deep red bricks. The multitude of windows are framed with sunny yellow shutters. The porch runs from one side to the other. There is a cushioned swing on both ends with ferns hanging every few feet along the eaves of the porch roof. Marigolds line the ground on both sides of the steps along with a yard sign that says home sweet home.
“This isn’t exactly what I was expecting to find when you said you were taking me to your place,” I say with a half grin.
He opens his door and says, “That’s because it’s not my house.”
Without another word, he climbs out and shuts the door. Before I can even get my seatbelt unbuckled, he opens my door and does it for me. Taking my hand, he helps me out of the truck and shuts the door behind us. Then he leads me to the house.
“This is the house I want your mom and brother to move into,” he states as he releases my hand and shuffles through his keys.
When he finds the right one, he unlocks the door and swings it open. The second I see what’s inside, tears pool in my eyes. It’s perfect, absolutely freaking perfect. The living room is big but not huge. The walls are painted a muted peach, and the floor is covered in plush beige carpet. The furniture is a throwback to the eighties, reds and brown flowers covering every inch of the fabric. As tacky as it is, it fits into the room perfectly.
“I thought it was empty,” I say, still looking around the room. “Who does the furniture belong to?”
“Mrs. Shanks left most of her shit here when she moved. She said her condo was small, and she wouldn’t be needing all this crap,” he explains, grabbing my hand once again. “So, it’s your mom’s if she wants it.”
I shake my head, hating the fact that I have to turn him down again. “I don’t think she’ll move here, no matter how nice it is.”
He doesn’t say a word as he leads me through the living room into a galley style kitchen. Again, it shows its age in style but not condition. The walls are painted a light blue, and the backsplash is a mixture of a slightly darker blue with some solid white tiles thrown into the mix. The countertop is speckled black and blue formica that looks to be in excellent shape. The cabinets are dark oak with tiny spoons and forks as handles. The only upgrades are the appliances, each one a shiny stainless steel.
There is a small light oak table with four chairs sitting at one end of the kitchen. Each chair is sporting a cushion covered in bright yellow daisies. There is a huge picture of pink roses hanging on the wall behind it, and a hutch full of dishes is sitting only a few feet away. Again, the room is absolutely perfect.
“There’s a utility room down there.” Major points to the other end of the kitchen, “It’s not huge, but there’s a washer, dryer, and stand up freezer. The freezers are still stocked with meat and even a few vegetables from the garden. I think it’s all still good, but your mom will need to check the dates.”
My heart flutters with excitement at the thought of Mom and Rusty living here, but a voice in my mind keeps reminding me not to get too excited. “It’s really nice.”
He grunts with satisfaction as he grabs my hands and pulls me out of the kitchen and down the hall. We pass three closed doors before he opens the last one on the right at the end of the hall. As we step inside, I take in the room with a smile. It’s nearly a duplicate of my grandma and grandpa’s old bedroom.
“This would be your Mom’s room,” he says, leading me across the room to a set of mirrored doors and pulls one open. “The closet’s pretty small, but it should do the job for just one person.”
The closet is small but not tiny, and it’s not what has my attention. My eyes are focused on the wallpaper covering the back wall. It takes a minute for me to decipher the green and brown pictures covering it; their small horse drawn carriages. The other three walls are also covered with paper, but it is simple brown and green stripes. The floors are covered with the same plush beige carpet as the living room and hall.
This room is also full of furniture: a bed, mirrored dresser, and a chest of drawers. There is even two nightstands, both sporting a stain-glassed, tiffany style lamp. The mattress is bare, and there are no curtains on the windows, but I can imagine my mother’s things filling the room.
“It’s nice,” I say as he grabs my hand again.
Pulling me out of the room, he opens the door across the hallway. “This could be your brother’s room or there is another one just like it.”
It is a miniature replica of the room we just left, only there are yellow and orange flowers on the wallpaper. The next is the same, with green and light blue stripes on the wall. Both rooms have a bed and dresser, but not much else.
“This is the only bathroom in the house,” he says, slinging the door open to a small bathroom. “It’s kinda small, but it is what it is.”
With that, he leads me back to the living room and out to the porch. He locks the door quickly, takes my hand, and pulls me around back. What I see shocks the shit out of me. There is a huge covered deck with an assortment of patio furniture sprinkled across it and two ceiling fans hanging from the roof.
He leads me onto it and points toward the back wall of the house. “There’s a hook up out here for a TV if your mom would like it.”
I don’t know about Momma, but Rusty would love it. I can imagine him out here vegging out while watching one of his shows or carrying out his X-box and playing games. Momma would probably have to throw a fit just to get him inside.
“Old lady Shanks had a mini fridge and a huge ass grill out here, but her son took them after she left for Florida.” Major moves to the door and taps on it, “This goes into the utility room.”
As he talks, my eyes scan the back yard, finding a pond not far from the house. Taking a closer look, I see two ducks floating across the water. An old wooden bench sits on the bank, with what appears to be cane poles leaned up against it. The entire thing reminds me of a Norman Rockwell painting.
“I know you’re thinking this is charity, but it’s not. It’s a job,” Major says as he leads me back to the front of the house. “That barn over there has more than four-hundred thousand dollars’ worth of equipment in it. Whoever lives here will have to keep an eye on it, give us a call if someone comes messing around out here.”
“Why don’t you just move it to your place or your brother’s?” I ask, finally hearing the sincerity in his voice.
To him, this isn’t charity. Living here will be a job and an important one at that. Still, moving to another state would be a big leap for Momma, not to mention Rusty. There’s no telling how the move will affect him. He has a routine, and any slight change in that routine can throw him off for days.
“There’s a farm here to run; there’s more than twenty acres of tobacco planted right there,” he replies, pointing behind the barn. “Not to mention, there’s prime grazing land behind the house. Tucker and I are thinking about building a horse barn back there and housing some of our younger stock here.”
“Wouldn’t you need someone to take care of the tobacco and horses?” I ask, wondering if this would be the right place for Mom and Rusty, even if I could talk them into it.
He nods his head, leading me into the truck. “There will be a full crew to work the farm, so your mom won’t need to worry about that. We’d just want her to keep her ears open during the night, let us know if she sees anything that doesn’t set right with her.”
As he opens the door and helps me up into the seat, I stare back at the house. I can almost see my mother sitting on one of the swings, reading a book, as Rusty sits on the other playing on his DS. They’d be happy here; I’m sure of it.
Just as he reaches in to do my seatbelt, I look into his eyes. “I’ll talk to her.”
“You do that, baby,” he says, clicking the belt into place. “Now, let’s get to my place and get you to bed, so we can see who starts screaming first.”
Again, my clit pulses, and all I can do is nod.