Page 32 of Play Me

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Gray

Gravel crunches beneath my tires as I turn onto the long driveway leading to Blackbird Ranch. The sign Grandpa proudly hung when he was about my age shines above the gate. The stone pillars that Mom hated stand tall on either side with solar lanterns on top of them.

The thought of Hartley using solar anything makes me smile.

A wooden fence borders the driveway, separating our private road from the forest on either side. The trees are thick, and the vegetation is dense and dark. Despite not being in those woods for a decade or more, I have no doubt I could find my way through them blindfolded.

I peek at Astrid, finding her taking it all in.

The feeling of being home settles over my soul. It’s been too long since I was here—so long, in fact, that I forgot how the world ends at the start of the gate. Back here, it’s a world all its own and ruled by hard work, loyalty, and family.

My chest grows heavy as nostalgia for a time long gone takes up residence between my pecs.

“You grew up here?” Astrid asks, unbuckling herself.

“Yeah. I grew up here with my parents, my dad’s dad—my pap—and my brother, Hartley, who you’ll meet in a second.”

Her gaze settles on the main house coming into view. “I know you love rugby and all, but I don’t think I could ever leave a place like this. It’s so … peaceful.”

The way she says it hits me in the heart.

“Some things run in the family, I see,” she says, laughing.

What? I spy Hartley’s giant white pickup truck parked just outside the garage. He comes out of the garage with a shit-eating smile and waits for us to pull up.

“Look at you,” he says, grabbing me for a hug as soon as my feet hit the ground. “How the hell are you? Still a shrimp, I see.”

I chuckle, taking in his six-foot-one, solid two-hundred-thirty-pound frame. “We both couldn’t be great looking, so God gave you height.”

“You’re full of shit,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. He takes a step back, and his attention is drawn to movement at the front of my truck.

I follow his gaze to Astrid. Her arms are folded across her middle. Gone is the easygoing girl I had in the truck with me. Astrid with the clipboard is back—minus the actual clipboard.

“Come here,” I say, smiling gently at her. “Astrid, this is my brother, Hartley. Hart, this is my assistant, Astrid.”

His eyes light up. “ This is the assistant?”

“Yes.” I hide a grin. “This is the assistant.”

“Whatever he’s said about me comes from a place of ego and stubbornness that I fear you know all too well.” Astrid holds out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Hartley.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I can tell we have a lot in common,” Hartley says as they shake hands.

A small smile touches her lips.

“I gotta run a couple of keys to the guys at the south gate.” Hartley turns to me. “You guys can ride with me or head on in and grab a drink.”

Astrid is more relaxed than she was a few moments ago, but I think introducing her to the crew might be more than she’s ready to handle today. Those guys are a rowdy bunch.

“We’ll stay here,” I say.

The relief is evident on Astrid’s face.

“I’ll be about thirty minutes,” Hartley says, getting into his truck. “The keys are in the side-by-side if you want to take it for a spin.”

“You’re good with staying here, right?” I ask her as Hartley starts the truck.

“I was hoping you’d choose that option because I need to pee.”

“All right. Let’s head inside.”

The steps creak as we climb onto the porch and find the screen door closed. It pulls open with the same hitch it’s had my entire life, and something about that makes me smile.

“The bathroom is down the hallway,” I say, pointing to my right. “First door on your left.”

“Thanks.”

I take a deep breath, filling my nostrils with the scent of cinnamon apples. I can’t help but wonder if Hartley burns the same candles Mom did or if the scent has leached into the walls. It’s the smell of home .

I mosey around the living room, taking in the similarities and differences since I was here last. A new mounted deer head, a size bigger than Pap’s, hangs on the back wall. We never thought anyone would break that record, but it looks like someone did.

Pictures line the built-in cabinets surrounding the television.

I take them one by one, many of them in the same spot they have for years.

Miniature rocking chairs that Hart and I used as kids are next to the fireplace.

The television, though, is new and much bigger—a flat-screen that looks like a picture frame.

Mom would’ve hated it. I find that amusing.

“There you are.” Astrid comes into the room. “Your brother has the best hand soap that I’ve ever smelled.” She sniffs her fingers. “It’s vanilla, I think. Maybe with blueberries.”

“You’ll have to ask Cathy. I’m sure Hartley has no idea.”

She moves to the window overlooking the backyard. “Who’s Cathy?”

“She’s worked here since I was nine or ten years old. She takes care of the house and took care of Pap. Mom was an ER nurse and worked long shifts, and Dad was busy with the ranch, so Cathy came in and took care of things while everyone was busy.”

“I love that you all lived here together.”

I join her at the window. “Yeah, I loved it, too. Pap had a Playboy subscription and a cigar habit. When you’re a teenage boy, those are great things to have at your disposal.”

“You were a handful as a kid, weren’t you?”

“You could say that.”

She grins softly. “How much of this do you own?”

“Me? I don’t own shit, but Hart has over a thousand acres.”

“ Oh . Wow.”

I slide a hand in my pocket. “It’s pretty impressive. He has … I don’t know how many head of cattle. Horses. Chickens. Goats.” I study her before I speak again. “Want to take a ride around the property?”

She smiles. “Yeah. Sure. I’d like that.”

We exit the house and head outside. She grabs one of the water bottles from my truck that I bought at Piper’s, so I hop on the side-by-side and pick her up.

Astrid giggles as we whip around the side of the house, leaving tracks in the yard that I’m sure Hartley will yell at me about later.

I hate to tell my brother, but it’s worth it.

Hearing Astrid enjoy herself is worth all the shit he’ll undoubtedly give me, because I sense this doesn’t happen often with her.

The more I see Astrid without her trusty clipboard, the more I kind of like her. I find myself wanting to know more about her, wondering what makes this confusing woman tick. She handles herself with complete confidence in some moments. In others, she seems almost fearful. Why?

“Look at that,” she says, pointing at a little spring trickling out of the side of a rock ledge. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I wheel us over to it and slow down. “Want to get out and take a drink?”

“No, thanks. I don’t want to die of dysentery.”

“Dysentery?” I snort. “Really?”

She wrinkles her button nose. “Fine. I don’t want a parasite. Better?”

“You won’t get a parasite.”

She looks at me like I’m full of shit.

“I mean it,” I say, entertained by her reaction. “Mom used to bring jugs out here and fill them up a few times a week. She swore it was healthier than tap water because we got minerals and shit from it. Hartley and I turned out fine.”

She makes a face. “That’s debatable.”

I laugh, bumping her shoulder with mine as I press the gas once again, and we ride along quietly for a while.

Astrid points out the buzzards circling a clearing in the trees, and two deer jumping the fence before darting into the forest. Her eyes twinkle as she takes everything in, and I wish we had more time for me to show her the barns and fields.

“Your mom seems pretty cool,” she says out of nowhere.

“I don’t know about cool, but she was a great mom.”

Astrid leans back in the seat and turns her head to me. “Did you have a good relationship with her?”

“Yeah. We all had a good relationship, really. Mom and Dad were strict with us, but we had a lot of fun, too. We’d play euchre together, we had fun traditions for every holiday, and they never missed our games or school shit.

” I pilot the machine down the hill on a path that’s only faintly still visible.

“What about your parents? Did you get along with them?”

It’s a touchy topic. She’s told me enough to paint a clear picture of her upbringing—specifically with her father—but I don’t want to dig and ask the pointed questions I’d like to have answered.

Where was her mother? Was Astrid neglected? Abused?

My jaw clenches at the thought of a baby Astrid being in pain and having no one give a shit.

“My mom died in childbirth,” she says just loud enough to be heard over the motor.

Fuck. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs helplessly. “You didn’t know.” She takes a breath. “My grandma lived next door to my dad and me until I was eight, but then she had a heart attack in the front yard while she was taking her trash to the road. I found her after school.”

My God. My heart aches for her. My fingers itch to grasp her shoulder and pull her into my side—to offer comfort that I doubt she got from her father.

“My dad was a sonofabitch.” She bristles, tensing again. “And that’s all I have to say about that.”

I should keep my mouth shut. It’s not my place to say anything more, or to inject myself into her private world, but I can’t help it. I have to say something.

“As much as you’ve annoyed me over the past couple of weeks, you’ve also been impressive,” I say, swallowing through a constriction in my throat. “I hate to think that your strength comes from necessity, especially at such a young age.”

The corner of her mouth lifts. “I’m glad it did. Otherwise, I would’ve been a statistic in one way or another.” She side-eyes me. “Instead, I’m just a heartless bitch.”

I blow out a breath, embarrassed. “I’m really sorry I said that to you. It was wholly unfair.”

She shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Where are we headed?”