Page 9 of Love Is a War Song

Embroidered chickens were framed and hung on the wall.

There were watercolor chickens. A stuffed pillow in the shape of a chicken sat on the chair by the window.

There was a pair of carved wooden chickens on the vanity.

Chickens. Chickens. Chickens. The quilted bedspread was in a soft, aged shade of buttercream and thankfully didn’t have any chickens on it.

I knew absolutely nothing about this woman apart from that she was comfortable shooting guns to scare away bankers. But now I knew two new things: she loved chickens and possibly the color yellow.

The four-poster bed was made of a dark, rich wood that was polished to shine in the soft fading light coming through the windows. There was an antique dresser that matched the bed and vanity. It was a nice room, apart from the extreme poultry theme.

“It’s lovely, thank you,” I said with a smile. It was genuinely a nice room, even if I had to wake up to a million chickens staring at me.

“Well, I’m sure it’s not like the fancy things you’re used to, but it does have an attached bathroom. It’s a shared bathroom, but as it’s only you and me in the house, no one else will be using it.”

“It’s perfect.”

“Y’all were a little late getting back and with the uninvited visitor showing up, I pushed dinner back a little to give you time to clean up. So, I’ll let you get the rest of your things and settle in. Come downstairs for dinner in thirty minutes, sound good?”

“Yes, thanks,” I said. I lost count of the number of thank-yous I’d given in these short minutes.

What else could I say? What could I ask?

What was allowed? I wanted to ask if she could show me which room had been my mother’s, but Lottie’s demeanor did not inspire any warmth.

In fact, her cold, hard exterior scared me.

Perhaps she preferred it that way. And maybe this room was my mother’s.

Though she never acquired any artwork or decor of the poultry variety in my whole life.

It was hard to imagine my mother here in the country, but I could see where my mother got her strict, businesslike manner.

I wondered if that was how Lottie was when raising her.

I settled all my luggage in the room with a few minutes to spare.

I got out a change of clothes and raced to the bathroom to quickly wash my face, but I caught a whiff of my underarms after a full day of traveling and stress—I smelled worse than the bus.

I pumped the lemon verbena liquid hand soap into my hands and scrubbed my pits with a fervor.

There. Now I felt more human. More like me.

I came down the stairs slowly, taking my time to see what else I could discover. There wasn’t a single family photo on the wall, which was a bummer. Every house I’d visited always had family photos in hallways by the bedrooms or along the wall leading up the stairs.

My hand brushed the empty space and I noticed discoloration in a few different places in the shape of ninety-degree angles.

It looked like there had been photos here, but they’d been removed.

I felt my heart constrict. Had Lottie removed those photos after my mother left?

Or when her parents passed away? Or right before I arrived?

The sound of the front door closing broke me from the spell of trying to decipher how many photos had been removed.

It was Lucas. He had cleaned up since I saw him last. Gone were the dusty boots and clothes and this time he wore no hat.

Instead, his hair looked freshly washed and combed back from his face.

The bastard was more handsome than any actors, models, or musicians I had ever encountered in all my time in the entertainment industry. What. The. Hell.

He noticed me gawking at him while I stood on the stairs. He openly stared back. Even from the length of a room and halfway up the stairs I could track the movement of his eyes, the way they perused my body. No doubt judging me some more.

I rolled my eyes and continued my descent.

Lucas planted himself in the same spot in the foyer, his legs spread out, hands behind his back, and waited for me.

That was unexpected.

I knew he had to be an obsessed fan.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Nah, just waiting for you. Figured you wouldn’t know where to go.”

“My nose works, I can follow the smell of food.” I arched a brow at him.

Lucas scoffed, looking down with a small smile. “Let’s eat then.” He took off in the direction of the dining room.

When I made it into the dining room, I noticed Lottie had changed into a clean brown velour tracksuit, her hair tied in a severe knot at the top of her head.

The men were already seated. Lottie sat at the head of the table with one seat empty to her right.

Unfortunately, Lucas sat next to the empty chair, and I wondered if it was too late to ask to take some food up to my room to eat in private.

Lottie looked at me and then to the seat, and I got the hint.

I quickly made it to the chair, trying to draw as little attention to myself as I could, which was impossible as I was a stranger to everyone and stuck out like a sore thumb.

Once seated, I gave the group a weak smile and pathetic wave. Who did I think I was? Miss America? Waving as if saying, Hello, thank you for allowing me to crash-land into your lives and disrupt all your routines, please do dig into your food .

“Great, she’s here. Let’s dive in,” Davey said.

Yeah, let’s. The food smelled amazing. There was a platter of fried chicken, biscuits, a bowl of corn, and another bowl of green beans.

“Not before grace,” Lottie said, leveling Davey with a look that felt like it had more weight and meaning behind it than I could comprehend.

I took my cues from Lottie and put my hands together and bowed my head. I’d watched a few seasons of 7th Heaven back in the day, so I got the gist of it.

As I listened to Lottie thank our Lord and Creator for the meal, I wished I didn’t have such a heightened awareness of Lucas sitting next to me. I could feel the heat from his muscular thigh.

Once we all said “Amen,” Lottie served herself a drumstick and handed the platter to me. I chose the biggest piece I could see, already planning on seconds or thirds. That PowerBar did very little to quash my hunger.

I ate in silence, listening to the flow of conversation about the goings-on of the ranch and the horses. I choked on a spoonful of the buttery corn when Davey casually mentioned masturbating a horse. As if that was a normal, everyday occurrence.

What in the actual fuck? Was that legal?

Did the horse consent? I looked around, bewildered, and everyone kept talking without even batting an eye.

Lucas smirked at my reaction. No doubt relishing my ignorance of horse affairs.

I didn’t think horse semen was the subject to be all hoity-toity about, but that was just me.

If I were an expert on horses, spouting knowledge about horse peen would not be something I’d do at the dinner table to prove my point.

“I think we need to put poor Avery out of her misery and explain a little about what we do. I can see her head is about to explode,” Red said with a laugh.

The crinkles around his eyes made him look friendly and he looked at me with eyes full of mirth.

I think I liked Red best of all at this table.

He wiped his wiry beard with a napkin. His dusty clothes were also gone and he wore no hat.

He tied his long, fading hair in a ponytail and wore a clean paisley button-up shirt.

It looked well loved and well worn with the blue color faded in spots on the sleeves.

Red had history here and I genuinely wanted to hear about it.

So long as he kept the topic of masturbating horses to a minimum.

I looked to Lottie to see if it was all right.

From the look of the empty wall of missing pictures, I wasn’t sure how much she wanted me to know about this place.

But all she did was grab her glass of water and nodded for Red to continue.

“Since 1930, Red Fox Ranch has been a prominent horse-breeding ranch. We bred some winning stallions and sold coveted brood mares, and also bred horses and ponies for families and such. To breed, we have to keep the male horses away from the females to make sure we don’t get any undesirable sires.

In our prime, we had ten racehorse studs that people would pay thousands of dollars for their semen to breed their own horses.

It’s common. You get it?” Red asked, folding his cloth napkin.

“Umm, I think so? It’s like a sperm bank but for horses?”

“Exactly,” Davey answered, laughing to himself.

He had cleaned up his appearance too. He wore a clean T-shirt and no hat.

His hair was short, buzzed close to his scalp.

With the heat I experienced, I didn’t blame him.

I nearly wanted to cut all my hair off too after hauling my luggage from the truck.

“And all that pays for this whole ranch?” I asked.

“It used to,” Lottie answered.

“Is that why the man in the suit was here today? Is the business in trouble?” I knew as soon as the question left my mouth it was the wrong thing to ask. My grandmother’s face shuttered.

“That’s none of your concern. If everyone is done, take your dishes to the sink and load the dishwasher.” She got up, taking her plate and the remaining pieces of fried chicken with her. I wanted to cry. Maybe tonight after she went to sleep, I could come and swipe another piece.

The men stayed seated, finishing the food on their plates. I followed their lead, because I was hungry and the food was delicious. I’d never had such flavorful and moist fried chicken. Granted, all I had to compare it to was KFC, and I thought KFC was bomb.

I’d never been the biggest fan of green beans, but these were so soft and almost soupy with little bits of bacon. I wanted seconds and thirds of this meal.