Chapter 7

After pullingon the denim overalls I have designated for my morning tasks with the cows, I shuffle downstairs. The night before with the unexpected houseguests comes back to me.

I reserve the right to knock them back down to unwelcome guests if Redd tries any of that flirty, charmy, heart-tuggy nonsense like he did in the hallway last night.

It's so not fair for him to be more attractive than ever—objectively, of course. If you're into hockey players and tall guys with muscles and stuff.

I wouldn't know because I did my best not to look at him, otherwise, I risked igniting, being set on fire right outside my bedroom door.

I've thought about doing some remodeling and redecorating around here, but that's probably not how I ought to go about it,

I pinch the front of my shirt and wave it from my chest. Goodness, it's hot in here. Barely into summer and I probably ought to switch to my shorts and tank top farm chores outfit.

Just as I'm about to step outside into the fresh and cool morning, I stop short. My peripheral vision isn't the greatest and even with my glasses, my eyes are still fuzzy from sleep, but something moves slightly. Is it one of the barn cats? They're happiest out there with cream and mice to fill their bellies.

A low whimper sounds. I turn to find Blue and Baloo standing like little statues in the entryway to the kitchen.

"Good morning," I say, relieved it's them and not, well, Blue's brother. It's too early for me to deal with him.

"Hi," Blue says in a small voice.

"Were you waiting to let Baloo out?"

He whimpers again as if he knows full well what delights wait for him outside on the farm.

"We've been up for a while, and he already did his business—" She bites her lip.

I can't fathom this little girl's story up until now, but she's nervous and not used to people being nice to her, that much is obvious.

"Would you like to come visit the cows with me? Elsie and Bessie would love to meet you. Walnut and Cinnamon are a little cranky this early in the morning, but once you get to know them, you'll have best friends for life."

Blue's eyes light up, bringing a smile to my face. Gesturing we head outside, I tell her about how I'd stay here on the weekends when I was a kid and help my Grandma with the chores.

"My parents live down the street on part of my Grandma and Grandpa's old pasture land, so I never had to go too far to get home or visit here."

We reach Bessie's stall first and greet her warmly. Yes, I talk to my cows. I coddle and coo at them. Blue doesn't smile, but her expression softens when Bessie does her little head nodding cuddle against my arm.

"She's a love bug, let me tell you. Elsie is too. Walnut and Cinnamon are kind of like my brother and me. We're best friends but sometimes need our space."

"I thought Redd was your best friend?"

"Who told you that?"

"He did."

My heart does a little somersault. "He and my brother, Clancy, were best friends. I mostly tagged along when we were kids." Then he ditched me in high school.

Blue must've misunderstood. But my thoughts jump to her situation. I wonder if she left her friends in Colorado or if she didn't have many. I'm afraid to ask in case it was hard for her to leave or if she's worried about making new friends here.

Instead, I say, "Would you like to pet Bessie?"

Blue nods rapidly as if she'd been hoping I'd ask. I show her Bessie's favorite spot by her ears and then set to milking. I'll show Blue how it's done when we get to Elsie.

Before we move on, I glance over and see Blue resting her cheek against Bessie's shoulder with her hand gripping the dewlap—the little dangly bit of skin and hair by her neck. The little girl wears a peaceful expression that warms my heart.

"I think Bessie likes you," I say tenderly.

"She's so soft."

We move on to Elsie and I show Blue how the milking is done. She does the straining while I tend to Walnut and Cinnamon.

The sun streams through the trees outside and the birds chirp, flitting through the barn.

As we store today's milk in the fridge, I say, "I have to admit, I rather like having a helper."

"I like the cows. Especially Elsie and Bessie."

"As long as it's okay with Redd, you can visit with them anytime you like." I give her a quick reminder about not approaching from behind because they can kick if they're startled.

Baloo comes tearing into the barn and then runs circles around us before hauling back outside.

"He loves it here," Blue says.

"Me too. When I was a kid, there were a lot more cows. More than a hundred. I'd help my grandparents, but I'd also play explorer and find all kinds of things in my grandpa's other barn—the one he said held treasures and my grandma said was full of junk."

Blue doesn't laugh or smile, but her expression is less serious and cautious than last night.

We pass Pippy, the Milk Mustache truck.

"In fact, I found the truck in the old barn. The bumper was on the ground and the seat was missing, but I spent the last six months getting it fixed up."

"I like the color."

"It's blue, like your name."

"My full name is Bluebell."

"Like the flower in Texas."

Last night, I didn't take the time to straighten up or clean Pippy so I pull out the hose, a bucket, and soap. Blue helps me clean it. I tell her about how my grandma would always have milk and cookies waiting for us after school.

"They're my new favorite. I'd never had milk with cookies before."

That makes my heart sad. "It's a real treat and the milk from Elsie, Bessie, and the others is the best kind."

"For a milk mustache." Blue's lips twitch toward a smile.

"That's right."

"At my old school, on the first day, Miss Wilson had funny hats, glasses, noses, mustaches, and lips attached to popsicle sticks. She took a picture of each of us with them for our desks. Oh, and I forgot bows and bow ties too,"

Having seen accessories like that at work party selfie stations and other city events, I imagine the happy silliness of Blue with a smile on her first day. "I know what you mean. My mom had something like that at my brother's engagement party."

"You could use them when you set up your truck and people could take pictures."

I snap my fingers. "Blue, you're a genius."

"Runs in the family," a deep voice says from behind.

Backlit by the morning sun filtering through the trees, James Reddford stands on the porch in all his broad-shouldered, square-jawed, just out-of-the-shower jeans and barefoot glory.

Be still my heart.

His gaze locks on mine, blue eyes dancing with amusement.

The sight is not acceptable this early in the morning before I've had any caffeine, or when I'm wearing my farm chore clothing.

"I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Do you want some?" he asks.

"Yes," I squeak, clearing my throat and telling myself not to fall prey to handsome men in the morning—strictly speaking I didn't know that was a thing. And the last thing I want is James Reddford to fill that role.

"Please," Blue adds as if reminding me of my manners.

"Yes, please," I repeat. But I'm not sure if I'm saying, Yes please to the coffee or the man.

What has gotten into me? Definitely not the man. Flustered, I need to get my head strapped on straight. Just because we kissed once almost ten years ago, and he looks the way he does now, doesn't erase everything else.

That he and my brother were jerks. That they abandoned me. That they did nothing to protect me from high school werewolves.

When I turn around, Blue dashes after Baloo toward Grandpa's barn. The dog sneaks through a broken slat. I haven't been in there since unearthing the Peugeot and am not confident it's safe inside for a dog or a child. Grandpa had a lot of farm tools among his so-called "treasures."

Blue already slipped through the gable-end door, and I throw it open to find her staring at a bicycle with a basket and streamers hanging off the handlebars.

"Wow," she whispers, eyes wide like it's Christmas morning.

It's a little dusty but practically brand new.

"I forgot this was in here. My grandparents got Clancy and me bikes one Christmas. Always wanting to keep up with the boys, I made a fuss and wouldn't ride this one because—" I'm about to say it was too girly, but Blue seems to love the pink and white fenders and sparkly seat. I don't want to burst her bubble because I was a brat back then.

"Hop on," I say.

She rapidly shakes her head. "I don't know how." Her shoulders lower. "Or ice skate."

"We'll clean it up and give it a try later. Looks like the tires need air, anyway. My grandpa taught me how to ride, so I bet I could help you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"What about ice skating? Do you know how to do that?" Blue asks as we take one handlebar each and wheel the bike out of the barn.

"I sure do and guess who taught me? Your brother."

"What did I do now?" Redd asks, holding out a mug of coffee for me to take.

"You taught me how to skate."

Our gazes flit together and then just as quickly scatter like the sparrows that nest in the eaves of the barn.

"I'll teach you to skate, Blue. It's in your blood," he says.

She frowns and swallows as if not too confident about what that means.

"Because your brother is a good skater, you will be too," I clarify because to a six-year-old having ice and blades in your blood probably sounds scary.

Redd chuckles, likely realizing his blunder.

"Can you come too?" Blue asks me, reaching up for my hand.

"Yes, of course." Turning to Redd, I add, "If it's okay with your brother."

"Sure," he says, already walking back toward the house. "But first, the breakfast of champions."

Walking into the house behind Redd seems perfectly normal, just like old times. Same sweet scents, the slant of the light through the window, the creaky floorboards. Except one thing is different.

Me and the way I don't quite hate him. It's something else and it kind of scares me. It's something I should resist.

Unlike the tidy state I left the kitchen in last night, it's a mess of bowls and measuring cups. The griddle is out and Redd melts a pat of butter as he adjusts the temperature.

"I see you made yourself right at home," I mutter.

"We need to eat and since your grandpa always made the pancakes, I figured I'd carry the torch."

And I'm burning up because Redd dons an apron that says Kiss the Cook. Grandpa bought it for himself so his wife would have an extra excuse to smooch him. He'd say to her, Kisses for cakes. That's your payment. Mine was a hug and a smile.

It's a silly apron and undersized for Redd, which only highlights his attractiveness.

Fanning myself because this is turning out to be a hot summer day even though the forecast said partly cloudy and temps hovering in the low seventies. I hurry toward the stairs.

"Get back here," Redd hollers.

Stopping short, I turn slowly, head cocked, ammo locked and loaded on my tongue. Who does he think he is? "What was that?"

The corner of his lip hitches with a half-grin. "This is a family breakfast."

My defenses fall. In this house he was family, and more than anything, it's obvious Blue needs one of those. Maybe Redd too. And me? Maybe.

"I'm just going to change out of my cow clothes," I say, bluster gone…this fresh in the morning look doesn't help matters.

After taking a two-minute cold plunge, I pull on a sundress and return to the kitchen.

Brother and sister stand at the stovetop, watching carefully over the pancakes. I'm reminded of Clancy and me. The only difference is that until high school, I was always slightly taller. Then he shot past me. Blue barely comes above Redd's waist and is more of a daughter than a sibling. It's so sweet. I take a photo, hoping that by their staying here, Blue replaces some of her old memories with the same good ones Redd and I have of this farmhouse.

"Okay, pancakes for everyone. Syrup, butter, and whipped cream are on the table. Let's eat." Redd says.

Blue's eyes are as big as the pancakes as she digs in.

After a couple of long minutes of happy silence while we munch, Redd says, "During the hockey season, I could never get away with this. I'm going to enjoy it while I can because, at the end of the summer, I'll be back on the nutrition plan and eating healthy."

"I usually eat cookies and milk for breakfast," I declare as if being my old defiant self.

Blue's gaze snaps to me like her world just keeps getting better.

"They're my grandmother's recipe and made of oats, raisins, some nuts, and seeds. She called them breakfast biscuits."

Redd nods. "I remember those. I'm surprised you started a food truck. You didn't strike me as the baking type."

More like burning the cookies and feeding my enemies the ashes type—my enemy being him...

"People change," I mutter, then in a lower voice add, "I never imagined you caring about anyone other than yourself." I nod toward his sister.

Oblivious to our conversation, Blue asks, "Did your grandma have a dog biscuit recipe?"

I tilt my head, thinking. "No, but you just gave me a great idea."

"Dog cookies at the Milk Mustache?" she asks astutely.

"Redd, you realize you have an actual genius on your hands, right?"

He smiles proudly. "Yep, I noticed."

Blue hides a smile behind a big bite of pancake.

"Maybe you can help me find a good recipe and Baloo can be our taste tester."

From his spot by the door, the dog lets out one loud bark of approval.

When we're done eating, Redd clears his plate and says, "Would you guys mind cleaning up my mess? I'm going to get that bike's tires filled."

I'm about to ask if he knows where my grandfather kept the air compressor, but, of course, he does. Clancy and Redd used to ride four-wheelers, operate the tractors, and help my grandparents around the farm. This place was practically his second home. Er, third home. He had wherever he lived, my parents' house, and here. After Grandpa died, I now distinctly recall him staying here and helping Grandma out before she got the cats.

Blue clears the table and I start with the dishes, my thoughts carrying me back in time. Redd and my grandmother were close—closer than I was to her at that point because I'd rebelled and gone wild, pushing everyone I cared about away so they didn't do it first as Clancy (and Redd) had already done.

Whereas being around him used to constantly incite my angst, it's different now. Back then, I didn't understand that he'd likely been neglected and abandoned by his parents. That he clung to our family for dear life. He'd do anything not to lose Clancy—his best friend, including acting like I was an annoying little sister.

And let's be real. Sometimes I was.

I watch him through the window, wheeling the small pink bicycle toward the back porch, tires fixed and chrome shiny. Blue is going to be thrilled.

My heart tugs. Time, understanding, compassion, and maturity make me see things more clearly and differently than the stories I've told myself. Plus, Redd taking care of his sister is so sweet and surprisingly selfless.

Maybe we've both changed.

He wears an expression that I can't quite read. Even at this distance, I find myself falling into his gaze. But wait. That means he's looking at me too.