The minus, I occasionally bump into dicks who think I can’t kick their asses.
Still, I was taught respect for my elders.
“Another Marine,” I say through a tight smile.
“Don’t let him fool you.” Sawyer grips my shoulder. “I’d trust Taron with my life.”
Dutch nods. “Brothers in arms.”
“Something like that.” Sawyer redirects. “Can Digger come by this afternoon? I need to get Noel and Leon squared away before I leave.”
A greedy light flashes in the man’s eyes when Sawyer’s back is turned. He quickly hides it, and I like him even less.
“You get on the schedule, and I’ll send him over.” They go to where Hidalgo sits waiting with his arms crossed, and I decide to wait this one out.
Sliding into a red vinyl booth, I notice the wireless is working in this place. I quickly tap out a group text to the guys saying we made it. Marley immediately sends back a peace-sign emoji. He’s probably already high—Mr. Wake and Bake.
Patton’s dad’s probably busting his balls. I can imagine him cursing my name for taking off like I did, but he’d be climbing the walls in this place. I’m kind of digging it in a weird, back-to-the-essentials kind of way.
I’ve just picked up a plastic-covered menu when a woman with strawberry-blonde hair piled high on her head and a brown apron glides up to me. She looks about the same age as my mom.
“Hey there, handsome. Can I get you some coffee?” She gives me a wink, and I see her plastic nametag says Florence.
“Hi, Florence.” I return her grin. “That’d be great.”
She produces a gold-plastic carafe from beside her and fills the small cup on the table in front of me. “You can call me Flo. You’re new in town.”
“Just visiting the LaGrange Orchard. I’m friends with Sawyer.”
“You don’t say?” She looks curiously to where he stands with the two men. “Miracles never cease.”
I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I’m glad for the coffee. It’s been a long morning, and it’s not even seven.
“You sticking around or just passing through?”
I sip the weak, brown concoction and nod. “We’re here a few weeks then we ship out for South America.”
“Ahh…” She slides a receipt out of her book across the table to me. “If you need somebody to show you around, you let me know.”
I lift the ticket and see a phone number written on it.
“Hey, Flo.” Sawyer is at the end of the table, digging in his front pocket. “You ready?”
I finish my drink with a slug, scooping up the scrap of paper. “How much do I owe you?”
She gives me another wink. “No charge, sugar. You just let me know if you need anything.”
“Hang on. If I don’t pay, you have to pay it out of your tips, right?”
She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Placing a ten in her hand, I pat her shoulder. “Keep the change.”
Her eyes warm. “And I thought southern gentlemen had gone out of style.”
“Just paying my bill.”
I don’t want to get into my family history, but I know how tight a waitress’s budget can be.
Sawyer punches my arm. “Come on, Casanova. See you later, Flo.”
She nods. “Glad to see you’re finally getting around to making friends… And good ones.”
We’re in the truck heading to the farm, and just like always, he doesn’t say much. It’s Sawyer’s style, though. He’s the quiet member of the group. Patton is all ambition, Marley’s always after a party, an escape. I’m… still searching for that answer.
The sun is higher in the sky, and the shimmering glow of dawn breaking over the peach orchard is gone. Now it’s sticky heat and rising humidity.
He leans forward. “It’s going to be a scorcher.”
“Did you get your team?”
“I think so. I think Digger will be a good pick to take over while I’m gone. Everything should run smoothly for a while.”
“You won’t leave your sister in charge?”
“Noel?” His forehead wrinkles. “She’s just a kid. Anyway, she’ll be starting college. She needs to focus on her studies.”
I know leaving the orchard and his siblings is heavy on his mind. I also know he really wants to do something for himself. Now could be his last chance—at least that’s what he told me.
He pulls off the narrow dirt road in front of the sprawling farm house. It’s the first time I’ve seen it in the daylight, and I’m impressed by the size. It’s a two-story structure with white wooden siding and a large, wraparound porch complete with swing. It’s the picture of classic Americana.
We slam our doors shut, and I follow him up the walk, past the small white picket fence and through the front door. My stomach immediately starts growling as the aromas of fresh toast, sizzling bacon, and fried eggs hit my nose.
“Damn, that smells good.” I rub my hands over my stomach.
Sawyer’s phone starts ringing, and he holds up a hand. “I’ll be right there. Head on in and introduce yourself to Noel.”
I’m not going to argue. I follow the scent of food, and the closer I get, I hear a high voice, singing an old Dolly Parton song. It’s the one that used to be on that TV show. It sounds good.
I push the swinging door open, and I’m almost knocked on my ass for the second time today.
Standing with her back to me, reaching high over her head into an open cabinet is not a kid by any stretch. Noel is petite and slender, with curves in all the right places. She’s wearing a fatigue-green tank top and cutoff shorts, and her glossy brown hair is piled on her head with little strands falling down.
I watch as she stretches higher for the plates, and my eyes glide down the smooth skin of her arm to her narrow waist over the curve of her ass and down her silky legs to her bare feet.
Her toenails are painted bright red.
Just as I’m about to offer to help, she hops up with one foot on the edge of the counter and grabs a big, ivory platter and bowl, but they must be too heavy for her. Everything seems to shift into slow motion.
She wobbles, and her song turns into a loud scream as she falls backward. “Oh, no… NO!”
“Noel!” I dive forward, and by some miracle, she lands in my arms, sending me down to my knees.
I’m leaning forward, holding her close. We’re both breathing fast, our noses almost touching. Her eyes blink open, and when they meet mine, golden-brown as whiskey, I think I’m falling.
A sharp inhale, and I’m surrounded by fresh spring and flowers. She’s soft as silk, her breasts against my chest, and her full, glossy lips part in front of mine.
I could kiss her…
“Sweet Jesus, an angel…” It’s a breathy whisper, a little raspy and a lot sexy.
“I’m Taron.”
Both plates are still in her hands. She blinks a few times before looking around. “Oh, hell.”
She pulls back, and I move to the side, helping her find her feet. When she stands, her legs are right in my face, smooth and muscular, and I resist the urge to reach out and slide my palm against her skin… Shit, get a grip, Taron.