“It’s just something I’ve done in the past,” Bull mutters and steps over to Carly to avoid further explanation. “What can I help you with?”
Giving me a sympathetic glance, Carly nods at a large bowl with a salad as she answers Bull. “Take that to the dining room and then maybe fill glasses with milk.”
“Oh, I don’t drink milk,” I state. Like a screeching car crash, everything in the kitchen halts. Carly stares at me. Bull rounds to face me.
“Excuse me?” he asks, brows raised high.
“I don’t . . .” My voice trails. I’m on a dairy farm, but I don’t ingest the product. I’d like to argue lactose intolerant, but that isn’t the explanation. I just haven’t drunk milk since I was a child. I don’t like it, but I can’t say that.
“Blasphemy.” A deep tenor breaks the sudden silence, and I turn to my side, watching a man with long hair tucked into a man bun stride into the kitchen from the outside door. He gives me a smile and then winks.
“Canyon,” Bull greets his brother. Canyon Eaton should come with a warning of his own. Compared to his brother, he’s just as broad and sturdy, yet Canyon has an edgy and artistic side. He has former musician written all over him despite dirty hands and something smudged on his shirt.
“Off with her head,” he continues to tease, stepping up to me and playfully wrapping an arm around my neck. He presses an unexpected kiss to my temple before releasing me as quickly as he embraced me. Bull’s eyes narrow on his brother.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns Canyon.
“Or what? According to you, Red here isn’t yours,” Canyon teases. “And I like me a redhead.” Seeing the dull color on his daughter’s hair, I’d say her mother was a redhead, as Canyon’s hair is dark brown. However, I’m focused on the fact that Bull’s mentioned I don’t belong to him, making me sound available to everyone else. I am not liking that assessment.
“I’m taken by me,” I state, defending myself and my honor.
“That’s not what I meant,” Bull growls again at his brother, nostrils flaring with steam like his namesake implies. Then again, Bull has explained that he’s named after his father, Harland Bull Eaton, but goes by his middle name.
Canyon steps over to the sink and washes his hands while Bull turns away, disappearing into the dining room with the large salad bowl, and I’m left wondering what these brothers have discussed about me.
“He’s not on that app anymore,” Carly offers, opening the refrigerator and reaching inside.
“How do you know?” I question, stepping over to her and taking the milk jug from her hand.
“I’m on there, and he’s not.” She gives me a sheepish grin, and I softly smile. However, I’m still uncomfortable with Bull ever being on a dating app. What’s with this about damsels in distress? Is that how he sees me?
“You shouldn’t be on that site either, beautiful,” Canyon says to Carly, and she blushes before waving out an arm for me to follow her to the dining room.
A table big enough to seat twelve is sporadically set, and I assume this has to do with people’s preference in sitting arrangement. After pouring the milk into glasses and skipping my own, I carry my glass back to the kitchen for water. When I return to the dining room, a version of what Bull will look like one day when he’s older sits at the head of the table. With solid gray hair and wrinkled facial skin, he’s still ruggedly good-looking in his mid-sixties.
“Scarlett, right?” he addresses me, giving me a warm smile. “Canyon was correct. You are beautiful and look just like her.”
For a moment, I’m thinking he means Bull’s first wife, Jennifer, and I don’t know how to respond.
“Looks just like who?” Joey asks of her grandfather.
“Grandma,” he whispers, still watching me round the table.
“Sit here,” Joey says, patting a chair next to her. “Uncle Bull sits there.” She points at the other seat at the head of the table, making it appear the top two males of the family face one another. I’ll be sitting to Bull’s right. Carly enters with another large platter, Bull behind her, and Canyon follows.
“Where’s Blade?” the middle brother questions, and we hear the stomping of feet down a staircase somewhere in the house. Canyon smirks and sarcastically remarks, “Right on time to help.”
The errant brother rushes into the room and halts when he sees me at the table. “Holy shit.”
“Language,” Carly groans as Blade stares at me.
“Did she drop from heaven?” He doesn’t direct the question to anyone, and Joey chuckles beside me. I don’t respond to his compliment other than a deep blush. He’s already seen me the other morning.
“Actually, she walked into The Gin Mill,” Bull answers.
“And that’s all it took,” Canyon teases, winking at me over the table.
“Of all the gin joints,” Blade throws his voice, mimicking Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. I laugh at his impression while Carly takes a seat, and it appears Blade will sit next to her, opposite me. Canyon rounds the table to sit next to his daughter.
“Harland, grace,” Carly addresses the table once everyone is seated.
“Joey, your turn,” Harland states, narrowing his eyes at his granddaughter. “I heard what you said in the kitchen.”
Joey’s eyes shift to me. “Sorry,” she mumbles of her accusation about me. Then she folds her hands in contrition.
“We are grateful for this bounty, which is always good.” It’s sweet, but Harland shakes his head in disapproval.
“Next time, rhyme,” Blade teases his niece. The meal erupts into chaos as bowls are passed, and food served, and appreciation spoken for Carly’s delicious dinner. The tender steak strips melt in my mouth, and I hum.
“Like Bess?” Joey says to me, and Bull pauses his fork midair. Carly drops hers.
“Josephine Elizabeth, what has gotten into you?” Carly hisses across the table.
“Who’s Bess?” I ask, slowly chewing the remainder of the meat.
“She’s in your mouth,” Joey clarifies, and I stop chewing.
“Excuse me?” I say around the food.
“Course it could be Ilsa or Esther or—” Joey continues sing-songing the names.
“That’s enough,” Canyon warns of his daughter, and I glance over at Bull for an explanation.
“She likes to name the cows.”
Oh, God. I swallow the remaining lump in my mouth, reaching for my water glass and chugging the remainder of the liquid.
“Gonna not eat meat, too?” Joey questioningly sasses me, and I realize she must have heard what I said about milk and not drinking it. To prove her point, she picks up her glass and guzzles the entire thing, making a satisfying ah after finishing the refreshing liquid. She slaps the glass to the table and takes a large bite of her steak.
“How’s Bess taste to you?” I question, watching her chew without a conscience even though she tried to make me feel guilty for eating the cooked meat.
“She was done producing, so off to the slaughterhouse she went.” Joey draws a line along her throat.