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“Maybe she’ll save us some?” I yawned, wincing as he pulled the curtains back. Sunlight struck me. I recoiled like a vampire being exposed at the end of a bad horror movie.

“You don’t understand…” Dakota said, pulling on his boxers. “You don’t get it!”

“I know I’m gonna need a shower at the very least,” I said. “Right now I look like I should be taking the walk of shame. Maybe two walks of shame, and a—”

“Go!”

He pulled me from the bed and shoved me into the bathroom, then proceeded to turn on the water. He would’ve showered me too, if he thought it would speed things up. But he had to get dressed himself.

In the end I was rushed back to the truck — dripping hair and everything — and whisked away in a shower of spinning tires, dirt, and gravel. Ten minutes later we were turning i

nto the Bradley farm and skidding to a halt right before the front door. Dakota half-dragged, half-carried me into his mother’s kitchen, which smelled like the most amazing mixture of salty, sweet, and savory I’d ever inhaled through my not-so-innocent nostrils.

“Sorry momma,” he uttered quickly, holding a chair out for me. “We completely lost track of—”

“Oh, forget the excuses,” his mother snapped crisply. She slapped him on his butt just as he was sliding into his own seat. “Now you get to the wash room and get yourselves cleaned up!”

Dakota jumped back up and looked at me pleadingly. I flashed him a half grin, but I didn’t need to be told twice.

The bathroom was tiny but adorable, with some sort of handmade soap that created a rich, thick lather. We cleaned up together, and I slapped him playfully on the ass before returning to the table.

“You know, your mother’s the only other woman in the world I’d let do that,” I admonished.

Dakota grinned and flicked water in my face. “Yes ma’am.”

I sat down in what had become ‘my’ seat, right next to his father who was reading the newspaper. He put it down as breakfast was served: a giant platter of fresh eggs, sizzling bacon, steaming hot biscuits, and some sort of thick white gravy that looked like wallpaper paste but tasted a thousand times better.

We ate ravenously, our hunger sustained by our long, hot, sex-fueled night. The lack of sleep was wearing on us at first, but once we’d gotten in a few cups of his mother’s extremely robust coffee… my body was singing a much different tune.

“More?” his mother asked, staring me down. It was the first time she’d directed a question at me all morning.

“Yes please.”

I ate another helping, even though I was full. I wanted to impress her. I wanted to fit in. Everything was rich and flavorful and amazing, especially the biscuits. They were probably soaked in butter and lard, but at this point I didn’t care.

Dakota himself ate three times what I did, then went back for more. In the middle of the breakfast his mother got up and made pancakes, and both he and his father helped themselves to a stack.

Finally the meal ended, and I was ready to be rolled out of the kitchen. Dakota cleared the table, and thankfully went to help his mother with the dishes. It was now or never. I’d already decided upon a divide and conquer strategy, so I had to make my move.

Eager to get my blood pumping again, I turned to his father and delivered him my most charming smile. “Walk with me?” I offered.

The man hesitated for a long, agonizing pause. For a very tense moment, I thought I was screwed. Then he shrugged and rose from the table.

“Be outside for a bit,” he said, and I followed him out the back door.

Twenty-Eight

SAMMARA

We walked for a few minutes in silence, just the two of us, out past the sheep pasture and down near the remnants of the old barn. I’d rehearsed this a hundred times since last night. Gone over all the things I wanted to say.

But suddenly everything escaped me at once, and I drew a complete blank.

“This here was built sometime in the 1880’s,” he said abruptly, his voice casual. “About thirty years after they founded Sioux City.”

The barn itself was a rotting hulk, its walls and doors decaying before our eyes. But the support beams — the skeleton of the old place — were still standing.

“You know, you could reclaim most of these supports,” I said. “They’re still sharp as ever. Just look at them, all sawed and debarked by hand. They’re totally beautiful.”