chapter 10
TRINITY
I GLANCE DOWN AT MY new identification card and frown. “Do I look like a Taylor to you?”
“Can I call you Tay Tay?” Callum asks, amusement dancing in his eyes. He scans his own envelope and suddenly looks extremely thrilled. “Castiel. Isn’t that the angel guy’s name from Supernatural? Hell yeah, I’m going to rock this name.”
“You got Castiel? Are you kidding me?” I complain. I love that show, and I love Castiel, the character. Why did he get to have such a cool name?
“Because I’m a cool guy. Cas and Tay Tay,” Callum says, trying out the new names. “I can work with this.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re happy,” I tell him, shaking my head and turning back to glance out the kitchen window from the sink. I push aside the very country floral curtains for a better view.
We are only an hour plane ride away, but it seems like we are in the middle of nowhere.
That cop was right—there’s no way in hell anyone will find us here because the place probably doesn’t even exist on a map. We’re in the desert. It’s scorching hot and sticky, and the few people I saw in the small town as we drove in were all wearing cowboy hats and farm clothing. The cops provided us with new wardrobes, probably because we’d stick out like a sore thumb in our city fashion.
“This place is something else,” he murmurs, looking out of the farmhouse we now call home. “What are we meant to do with our time?”
“I have no idea, but I don’t do idle, so we’re going to have to figure out something.” A cow appears in my line of sight. Are we supposed to look after the animals on this farm? I turn to Callum. “Hey, Cas, ever milked a cow before?”
“I’ve never left the city,” he says, eyes widening. “Fuck no, I don’t know how to milk a cow.”
“I wonder what other animals we have on the land?” I ask, moving from the window to sit down at the circular wooden table. The farmhouse is very quaint but completely not my style. I guess it was time for a change though. “Should we get changed and check it out?”
“Get changed?” Callum asks, glancing down at his jeans and shirt. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“You didn’t check out your room yet, did you?” I ask, hiding my smile. “They put new clothes in the wardrobe. We can’t be wearing our city slicker getups around here.”
“City slicker,” he mumbles under his breath, before storming into his room. He returns shortly with a fairly unattractive checkered shirt. “They want me to wear this? And don’t get me started on the overalls. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m tall. What’s the bet the pants they gave me only come to my knees?”
“And I thought I was going to be the high-maintenance one,” I tease, pushing up from the chair, brushing past him and entering his room, turning back to him with a wink. “Let me see what we’re working with.”
A double bed, a chair, and a wardrobe are all that occupy the room. We have to share a bathroom, which I don’t know how to feel about. I step to the open wardrobe and glance at the clothes that have been left for him. I understand what he’s saying—it can’t be easy to buy clothing, especially bottoms for a man of his height. I’ve noticed all of his clothes fit really well; maybe he gets them tailored.
“Maybe there’s a men’s store here,” I grumble after I see his selections.
“Told you.” He sighs. “I’ll just wear my jeans with one of those T-shirts. Who knows? Maybe they will grow on me.”
“Hopefully, because then maybe they might actually fit you.” I snigger, earning a dirty look in my direction. I close the wardrobe doors and turn to face him. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. We don’t know anyone here, and we’ll never see them again. And we aren’t even Trinny and Callum. We’re Taylor and Cas, and we’re farmers, or something. I don’t know.”
“You call yourself Trinny?” he asks, lips kicking up at the corners. “I like it. It’s cute.”
“It’s what my parents used to call me,” I admit, ducking my head. “I’m going to get changed so we can explore.”
I leave his room and enter my own, grabbing some loose shorts and a soft shirt from the pile. Not my style, but hey, what can you do? When my socks and shoes are on, I meet Callum near the front door.
“You ready?” I ask him.
“No,” he replies, but smiles and offers me his hand. I take it, and we open the door and step outside, the sun hitting me instantly.
“Did they leave a hat for you?” he asks, eyeing my pale skin.
I nod. “Yeah, I’ll go grab it.”
My everyday moisturizer has a sunscreen in it, but I should probably still use the hat.
“I can get it for you if you like,” he offers, but I decline.
“Hold on, I will just be a second.”
I find the floppy wide-brim hat and return it to him. This time, it’s me who retakes his hand in mine, almost like it’s natural. How can it be? I don’t waste my time questioning it; I just pull him in the direction I want to go as I turn my head every which way, taking in our new property. Well, temporarily ours, anyway.
“It’s huge,” I say, letting go of his hand to do a full circle. “I’ve always wondered what farm life would be like.”
“There’s a chicken coop,” he points out, shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand as he looks out over the property. “Are you going to collect eggs in the morning and make them for me like a good farm wife?”
“Probably not,” I admit, smirking at him. “But I do love a good poached egg if you decide that you will.”
He barks out a laugh. “Can you not cook?”
“I can cook to keep myself alive,” I reply, shrugging. “I can’t make anything fancy. And I don’t really like cooking, if I’m being honest.”
I wouldn’t say I’m wifey material in that aspect. If a man wants a traditional woman who will cook and clean for him, he’s probably looking in the wrong direction. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—there isn’t, my mom was always in the kitchen, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of everyone, but I don’t think that’s me. But I’m loyal, honest, and loving. And I’m passionate.
“Lucky for you I’m a great chef then,” he replies, surprising me. Callum is always surprising me. Nothing ever gets to him, or pulls out a reaction from him, other than humor. It’s refreshing. My ex-boyfriend hated that I didn’t cook for him every day and fuss over him, but I just don’t have the time or the want to do that. Did I try to spoil him and be good to him in my own way?
Yes, I did.
But men always seem to want more than I can give. I’m a career-oriented woman, and I’m a busy one. I need someone who can understand that and not get angry if I’m home late or if I miss a meal. I wish for once someone would see my work ethic and ambition as a good thing, not just as me being busy all the time.
I crave independence, and I’m not willing to give mine up for a man.
“What’s your specialty?” I ask him, pulling him toward the stables.
“I make a pretty good seafood gumbo,” he says, again surprising me.
“I love gumbo,” I say, smiling to myself as I hear the horses neigh. “They have cows, chickens, and horses, and just us here? Maybe we’re meant to look after them. We have nothing but time on our hands until that asshole is caught.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, but then asks me, “It’s a new day, do you know what that means?”
“That we survived another night?” I joke ill-humoredly.
“Well, that, yes, but I also get to ask my question of the day,” he says.
“Really? Are we still doing that then?” I grumble, watching tumbleweeds roll through the field.
“Yes. We can’t let what happened ruin our lives.”
“Your questions are also ruining my life,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re really nosy, do you know that?”
“Yes,” he replies, unashamed. “And for the record, I should have been nosier and handed in those threatening letters to the police without your permission, then maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”
I open my mouth to argue but then close it, because . . . fuck. He’s right.
I guess there’s a first time for everything.
“You’re right,” I admit. “I should have listened to you. And I’m sorry, Callum. I never would have wanted to drag anyone else down with me.”
“I know,” he whispers, then changes the subject. “And you know what I’m going to ask.”
I puff out a breath. “You want to know why I’m single,” I guess.
“Exactly that.” He grins, flashing his teeth at me.
Where do I start with this? “Aside from the obvious?”
“What’s the obvious?” he asks, glancing up at the sky.
“I work too much; I can be a little . . . difficult at times. And to be honest, I like being single. I can do what I want, answer to no one, and be as selfish as I like.”
“What about sex?” he fires back.
I narrow my eyes on him, closing the space between us so the material of his horrible shirt presses against the soft cotton of mine. “I don’t need a man to get off, Callum. There are ways around that.”
He swallows. “Well, that’s an image that isn’t going to leave my mind anytime soon.”
I step away from him and he glances down at his crotch. I can’t help but look down there too, and he’s hard. Our eyes both raise and lock. I shrug. “This isn’t my fault; you started this line of questioning.”
“And you finished it,” he adds, then sighs and glances around the property. “Do you think they have a library here?”
“I guess so, why?” I ask, surprised by his question.
“Because I need a distraction and we’re going to need to borrow Farming for Dummies.”
I stop in my tracks, pausing.
Shit, I think he might be right . . . again.