Barking Up the Wrong Tree
JAKE
THE FARMHOUSE WAS CLASSIC AMERICANA.
With its white wraparound porch and the pair of rocking chairs swaying in the wind, it looked like something that belonged on a Norman Rockwell Christmas card.
Rustic.
Quaint.
Quiet.
And nothing I pictured as the backdrop for my sister’s wedding.
Turning the music down, I came to a stop under a giant Maple tree and glanced over at Jules. “Are you sure this is the right place because I don’t see a barn anywhere?”
“You’re such a city boy,” she quipped.
The top was down, and a few of the leaves from the canopy overhead floated down. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Barns aren’t like garages. They don’t always have to be close to the house.” She twisted her head to look around. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”
This woman really knew how to push my buttons.
Either oblivious to this fact, or indifferent, she shaded her eyes and continued on with her search. “I’m surprised there isn’t a sign anywhere.”
A leaf landed on my steering wheel, and I swiped it away. “Are we in the right place or not?”
She glanced down at her phone. “Just give me a second. Will you?”
Frustration was slowly burning through my veins. Impatient to get this unplanned visit over with, I grabbed through the air at the next leaf that dared drop into my car before it made a landing, and tossed it out along with the other.
Pointing her finger down the hill and to the east, she said, “According to Google maps, it’s a half-mile in that direction.”
As soon as I pressed down on the accelerator to turn off the country lane and onto the dirt road ahead, my wheels started to spin. I stopped immediately and put the car in park.
Shit.
With a yank of her hair tie, she freed her hair, and it seemed to be dancing along with the slight breeze. “You might want to go a little easy there, big boy.”
Color had tinged her cheeks from the wind, causing her tanned skin to appear rosy. With her green eyes and the sparkle from her earrings reflecting off the sun, it looked beautiful. She was beautiful. Shaking the thought away, I peered over my Ray-Bans at her. “I do know how to drive.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do, on city roads. But how often do you drive in the country?”
“Probably about as often as you,” I remarked.
“Actually,” she said, holding a finger up, “my uncle owns a farm, and I’ve driven out there enough to know that if you get stuck in the muck, the only way you’re getting out is with a tow truck.”
I pushed my sunglasses up. “Fine. And what’s with the use of big boy?”
“It’s just a saying,” she defended. “If you prefer big man though instead, I’d be more than happy to use that term.”
Even though I glared at her, her gaze never dropped from mine. In fact, her eyes were so expressive, they were capable of swallowing a man whole. Again, I ignored that, too. “I prefer neither.”
“Little boy, then” she giggled. When I glared at her this time, she quickly looked back down at her phone.
At least she sensed I had limits. Shaking my head, I put the car back in drive. Knowing she was right about spinning my wheels, I eased slower this time on the accelerator and rocked the Jag easily onto the mucky road.
“Woot,” she catcalled, grabbing hold of her hair to keep it from blowing in her face.
Juliette, or Jules, as I was told to call her, had insisted we take the top down. Most of the time when a woman was in the car with me, I just left it up. The whole my-hair-will-be-a-mess thing got old after a while.
She wasn’t like that.
Then again, she wasn’t like anyone I had known.
Sassy, but sweet.
Funny, but a smart-ass.
Tough, but weak.
She was such a contradiction.
Back at the coffee shop, I had every intention of telling her to just do her job and leave me the hell out of it. And yet, as soon as she called me on my crap, I couldn’t make the words come out.
The truth was I had been an asshole to her. Taking out my own shit on her. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t who I was. Or who I wanted to be. It wasn’t someone my old man would have been proud of. So yeah, I decided to cut her a break, and atone for my poor behavior by agreeing to participate in the planning of my sister’s wedding.
Go figure.
Once we reached the bottom of the hill, all I could see were more hills and acres and acres of what looked to be vineyards and open fields.
“Well,” I said, the sarcasm more than evident in my tone. Hey, I was doing my best to go along with this thing, but I never said it was going to be easy.
Jules unbuckled her seat belt and leaned back against the seat to stand. Her long, slender body was impossible not to look at. Shading her hand over her eyes, she pointed to the left. “I think I see the top of the barn right over that second hill.”
Spending my time driving around a cow pasture wasn’t exactly how I thought I’d be spending my first night off in ten days. I waited for her to sit back down and buckle up, and then I hit the gas. Again the wheels turned, but the ground was dryer down here, so I knew we wouldn’t get stuck.
Climbing up the hill, I took my time, but when I reached the top and started down, I gave the Jag a little more gas. As soon as I did, Jules put her arms up in the air and closed her eyes.
“What are you doing?”
She glanced at me and opened one eye. “I love that feeling when the car shifts into first gear and the wind starts to blow on my face. It’s like when you’re on a roller coaster, you know?”
I shook my head and let that one just go without an answer.
She didn’t seem to care that I didn’t quite get it because she kept on doing what she was doing until we reached the bottom of the hill.
Minutes later we were pulling in front of the barn.
“Here it is!” Jules yelled, full of excitement. Hopping out of the car before I even put it in park, all I saw was she was there one minute and gone the next.
“Jules,” I yelled, dashing out and around.
She was climbing up the car door before I reached her. “Nothing to worry about. Just twisted my ankle. That’s all.”
I helped her the rest of the way up and then pointed to the passenger seat. “Sit down and let me see it.”
“I’m fine,” she said as she waved me off.
I pointed. “I’m the doctor, not you. Now let me see it.”
Begrudgingly, she sat and extended her leg.
“Can you flex your foot?”
She did.
“Wiggle your toes?”
She did.
“Move your foot in a circle.”
She did.
There was no swelling. She was fine, and yet I didn’t let go. With my hands firmly gripping the bare skin of her ankle, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering how it would feel to have those ankles wrapped around my neck.
“Well, Dr. Kiss? What’s your diagnosis?” she asked.
Normally I hated, no despised actually, when anyone called me that. Yet, hearing her say it in that saucy tone of hers zapped a bolt of electricity through my veins.
Confused by my reaction, I stood straight and put my hands in my pockets. “It’s pretty serious.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Why? What’s wrong?”
I leaned in and fixed my gaze on her. “I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but you have a severe case of clumsyitis, and I suggest you stop wearing shoes you can’t walk in.”
She narrowed her stare at me. “Not funny.”
I shrugged. “Hey, you’re not the only one with a sense of humor around here.”
Jules shook her head. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay you for that diagnosis?”
The corner of my lips tilted. The answer on the tip of my tongue was anything but appropriate, so I kept it to myself and extended my hand. “Come on, klutz, let’s check out this place so we can leave.”
When she got to her feet, she gave me a slight shove and headed toward the barn. “Don’t call me that.”
I gave her a second to make sure she could walk without pain, and when she could, I quickly strode up beside her. “What’s the matter, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”
She snorted. “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”
This could go on all day, so I stopped and looked up at the barn. “Yep, that’s a barn all right,” I muttered.
It was old.
Weathered.
Big.
Old. Did I already say that?
And again, it was nothing I saw my city girl sister getting married in.
“It’s charming,” she remarked. “Not quite magical, but I can fix that.”
A woman in her early sixties with gray hair and a blue dress came walking out. She looked surprised to see us. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Jules said, “We’re here to take a look at your venue.”
The woman patted her hair and smiled. “George, come out here, we have a happy young couple who’d like a tour.”
“I’ll be right there, Ethel.”
“No, you got—” I started to say, but was cut off.
“George and I just love when newly engaged couples come to visit. This hasn’t happened in quite a while. Lately, it seems like we’ve had a parade of those snotty-nosed wedding planners from the city who want to change everything about our place to make it more sophisticated.”
Jules, who I thought had been attempting to correct her at the same time I was, grabbed hold of my hand. “Yes, well, Jake and I wanted to see firsthand if this was the right place. Didn’t we, honey?”
Honey?
No one had ever called me that. The shock on my face was hard to hide, especially when she batted her lashes at me.
A man, also in his sixties, wearing overalls and cowboy boots came rushing out of the barn. “This must be the happy couple.”
“Yes,” Ethel responded. “Aren’t they darling?”
Darling?
He wiped his hands on the denim of his pants. “Looks like the picture of real love right here,” he said. “And it just happens, we have a wedding starting in about an hour. Let me show you around first, and then, of course, you’ll stay for the event.”
Love?
Stay?
I felt a cold sweat coat my brow.
“Yes, you must stay. We insist,” Ethel echoed.
“Ethel! There aren’t enough mason jars for the punch,” someone called. “The rest are up at the house,” she answered. “I’ll go get them.”
Mason jars.
Punch.
My sister would go out of her mind. She was more of a crystal and champagne kind of girl.
George looked at his wife. “You go on, sweetheart. I’ll take care of the lovebirds,” he told her.
Lovebirds?
I thought my airway might be closing up.
“I’ll see you two in a bit.” She smiled and walked over toward an old Chevy pickup that was cherry red, and pretty damn cool.
I let go of Jules’ hand. “I appreciate all of this, but—”
“We’d love to . . . stay,” Jules spoke up, cutting me off. “I’m Jules, and this is Jake.”
Fuck, that sounded so monogram.
So couple-like.
“Nice to meet you,” George said. “Now, follow me. We don’t have a lot of time.”
I stared at Jules and consciously had to keep my jaw from dropping.
All she did was smile back and then she retook my hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s not keep George waiting.”
Sweetheart?
What. The. Hell?