Page 9 of Baker (Bastian Brothers #1)

Chapter Five

S leeping on the sofa sucked.

I tossed and turned half the night.

I chalked some of my edginess to pent-up sexual tension made worse by knowing that a good-looking guy who was into other men was snoozing in my stable.

I should have offered to come back to the barn for a good romp.

Maybe Hanley would have been into that. He had looked at my ass.

It had been a long, long time since I’d been in the arms of someone who didn’t smell of Ben-Gay.

Not that Granny’s hugs weren’t the best. They were, along with her cookies and carrot cake, but a hug from your grandma wasn’t the same as a hug from a sexy photographer.

The other half of my fractured rest, I had vivid, creepy dreams about my father rising from his fresh grave to complain about his plot.

Exhausted mentally and physically, my eyeballs were open at five in the morning, just like always.

Moving to my side to relieve the ache in my back, I lay there, quiet as a mouse, and listened to the old ranch house as it slept.

Granny would be up in fifteen minutes, slapping around in her slippers to begin her day.

Breakfast followed by morning chores before the daily work required to keep a place up and running.

Not that I had a lot running at the moment.

But that would change. I hoped. Once the three dudes who shared my surname got it into their heads that farm living was not the life for them, I’d be poorer, yes, but free to begin my ten-year plan.

Soon as I had an idea of what the first step in the ten-year plan was.

Lumbar protesting this position as well, I sat up, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and picked up my phone.

Nothing much of interest, so I rose, stepped into yesterday’s pants, and hobbled to the kitchen.

The coffee was perking when Granny arrived in her flannel PJs, yellow robe, sloppy slippers, and curlers in her silver hair.

“Morning,” she said around a yawn.

“Morning.” I handed her a cup of coffee, bent to kiss her soft cheek, then made my way to the mudroom. “Going to the barn,” I called over my shoulder as I tugged on my weathered brown chore coat.

“Don’t dawdle over them horses too long. We have a family meeting set for seven.” She pattered up to the doorway.

“I didn’t see that text,” I replied, then yanked on a pair of work boots as old as Granny, or damn close.

“I don’t know texts good other than that one from before. I slid a note under all the doors. You get told in person.”

“Ah okay. Old-fashioned paper texts.”

She smiled, then returned to the kitchen.

I headed out, eager to possibly get a chance to talk with Hanley again.

Talk meaning flirt. Maybe. If I could work up the nerve.

The sun was still hiding, so I made my way to the stable with dwindling moonlight.

Which was fine. I knew this ranch like I knew my own body.

I could probably make my way to each outbuilding blindfolded without incident.

As I neared the stable, I began whistling an old Porter Wagoner song and then gave a sharp rap on the door.

When only the horses replied, I yanked open the door and stepped inside.

Cool air rushed in with me, sweeping away the smell of barn and horse.

I reached back to close the door and flick on the lights.

The little space that Hanley had set up camp in was empty of all his gear.

“Anyone here?” I shouted, thinking that perhaps he had gone up into the hayloft.

Prissy replied with a whinny as did the other several horses in here.

A few pigeons in the rafters cooed softly.

No sound of a human, though. Damn. Guess he was an early riser as well.

With nothing to be done for my plans of making doe eyes at the man, I grabbed a pitchfork, turned on the beat-up radio sitting by my ATV, and got to work.

The hour went quickly, as it always does.

I had just turned and replaced the wheelbarrow to its spot when the first shot rang out.

Peeking through a fly-speckled window, I saw that the sun was coloring the sky bright pink.

Over by the old oak stood Granny, a rifle in her hand, taking aim at the second of ten empty soda cans lined up on an old wooden fence.

I walked outside, leaned on the barn, and chuckled softly as light after light on the second floor flared to life. Granny fired off another shot. Then another. Then another. Then she cussed. Then she took aim again.

Arms crossed, foot resting on the metal siding, I rather enjoyed seeing my siblings rushing out onto the porch in their jammies and bare tootsies.

“What is it?!” Dodge shouted over the sound of target practice and early morning robins coming awake. “Is it a bear?”

“Nah,” I yelled from my observation spot. “Just Calamity Jane over there trying to hit a pop can. She has hopes of joining a wild west show.”

They all gaped at me. Bella drew a fancy pink robe tighter around her lean frame, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Don’t go telling them that. I know there ain’t no wild west shows.

I just want to shoot good in case that damn fox shows up to steal another chicken.

” With that, Granny fired off another round.

It went wide, hitting an empty wooden barrel that would never hold water again due to all the bullet holes in it.

“I swear this damn sight is off! Baker, sight that in for me, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I shouted in reply. The gun was sighted in more than any gun in the county.

She turned to the four rumpled people on the front porch.

“Since you all are up, I’ll start breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, and sausage.

Baker, check the coop for eggs. The girls are known to get up with the chickens.

” Granny tittered at her joke, then clomped back to the house, her oversized rubber boots slopping around on her feet.

She made quite the fashion statement in her pajamas, a blue chore coat, and green rubber boots.

Poor Bella was probably too shaken to even speak as fancy as she was.

I made a quick trip to the chicken coop to fill their waterer and check for eggs.

Most of the hens were still on the roost but leaped down as soon as I opened the door to their pen.

The rooster that Granny called Brewster crowed in my face.

He was a nice rooster, gentle with Granny and the hens, and had once fought off a red-tailed hawk that had tried to grab one of his gals.

Ever since that heroism, he was given lots of praise and extra shell corn and had grown a little chubby. But then again, who hadn’t?

Ambling to the house, I could hear the sound of male voices through the cracks around the old window.

Pausing, I peeked inside to see everyone gathered at the table, talking pleasantly while Bella filled glasses with orange juice as Granny made flapjacks.

They all seemed so at home. Why the hell was I having such trouble with them being here?

Maybe it was just the newness of it all for them.

Like when you go on vacation and everything is hot off the fire and exciting.

Then, after a week, the novelty has worn off, and it’s just another hotel room with an overused pool and crummy breakfast buffet.

I would bet cash money that within a week, they all would be seriously rethinking this crazy idea to become cowboys.

Then I could shoo them back to New York, Illinois, and California and get on with ranching.

Hands in my coat pockets, I entered my house, toed off my boots, hung up my coat and hat, and took a second to wash my hands in the big double sink beside the washing machine.

Back when I was a toddler, Granny had a wringer washer, and it drained into the sink.

Man, I used to love helping her on laundry day.

Even if my fingers got pinched weekly, there was nothing more fun than feeding wet clothes into those wringers.

Granny had loved that old machine. I’d had to argue and plead with her to get an automatic when her beloved Maytag had finally given up the ghost. To this day, she complains that the new washers don’t get clothes as clean as her old wringer washer had, and perhaps that was true.

I didn’t spend time examining my drawers for degrees of cleanliness.

I just stepped into them and pulled them over my ass.

My brothers— half- brothers—all turned to look at me when I entered the room. The aroma of maple syrup was thick on the air.

“Morning,” I grunted and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. Bella made her way over with the pot, smiled up at me, and filled my cup.

“I’m playing the role of Carla Tortelli this morning,” she said with soft humor.

“You look nothing like Rhea Perlman,” Linc tossed out and turned a soft shade of pink. A look that warred with his big, bad bear appearance. “Not that Rhea was ugly or anything. I think she was my fave on Cheers , but…yeah.”

“Thank you, Lincoln,” Bella replied as we all watched this little awkward exchange take place. When Bella sashayed back to the coffeemaker, Linc stared at his coffee mug as if it held the secrets of the ancients. Even his ears were red.

I took my seat, sipped, and placed my arms on the table, mug resting in my hands. “Okay, so I’m assuming we’ve all gotten some rest and are ready to rehash Cash’s final request.”

Dodge sighed wearily. “You know, on the one hand, I would love to tell that fucker—shit, sorry, Mrs. Bastian.”

Granny waved her spatula in the air. “Don’t think twice about it. I used worse when a weasel killed my ducks.” Everyone laughed softly. “You all just talk it out in whatever words feel best.”