Regardless, everyone in town and out of town and the globe over calls this tiny blonde woman who could intimidate the sun itself to bend to her will ‘Mama Louise’. She won’t have it any other way, unless you feel fit to drop the Louise and just call her Mama, which makes her cheeks pink up in joy. So I don’t do it. It doesn’t feel right to do that to my own mom, may she rest in peace.
The other eyebrow raises to match its partner and I realize my misstep. “Sorry,” I say simply, not really meaning it but willing to say it to keep her happy. It don’t take much, and it’s no skin off my back, so why not give her the little things? That way, she doesn’t dig too hard for the big ones.
Shayanne grins from Mama Louise’s side, enjoying seeing me put in my place, but she doesn’t dare let those giggles that are shaking her shoulders free or Mama Louise will get after her too. Mama Louise dips her chin once in acknowledgement of my apology and then goes on as if I didn’t just perform like some trained seal. Hell, if I’m doing tricks, where’s my treat? Shouldn’t I get a cookie or something?
I peek over Mama Louise’s shoulder, hoping that maybe she is actually making cookies, even though I know she’s neck deep in helping Shayanne. My sister is a force to be reckoned with, and one day, she’s going to grow up to be just like Mama Louise, who keeps a household full of mannerless cowboys from going feral.
Of course, Shayanne helps with that, as do the other Bennett boys’ wives. So maybe their work mostly consists of keeping us three Tannen boys in line. That’s a full-time job that requires overtime on the regular, so Shay could probably use the backup because she’s been doing it way too long on her own, even when she was barely a pipsqueak to us near-grown boys.
“What’s next?” I say, giving up on my cookie dreams.
“Shayanne has one more round of deliveries for you today. Think you’ve got time before dinner?”
Mama Louise eyes the sun, which is sitting midway down the western sky. The ball of fire’s position seems to light new urgency in her hands, and she pours the pink-tinted water through a strainer and into a big plastic jug.
They’re working on Shayanne’s latest creation . . . watermelon agua fresca. I’d teased her last spring that instead of people looking out for the milkman, they were going to be watching out their windows for the watermelon water woman. Which would be true, except that I swear I’m doing the bulk of her deliveries so she can keep up with the demand. At this point, I’m just glad she’s making something of the watermelons we grew in one of the fields out back. It’d seemed like a lot when we started harvesting, but summer’s not even two-thirds over and she’s damn near used every last one of them in her special concoction of watermelon, lime, and sugar water.
“Yep, I’ve got time,” I assure Mama Louise, starting to pick up the jugs for my first trip to the truck. Shayanne abandons her post to help me carry the load. She’s got a spring to her step and as many jugs of pink drink in her tiny hands as I do in my big paws. Shay’s a worker, down to the bone.
We step over Murphy, my old dog that doesn’t even move as I grumble at him, “Git, Murph.”
Instead, he rolls over like I’m going to set down the jugs in favor of belly scratches for him. I’m not a total asshole, though, so I do run my boot over his too-big gut a couple of times before pushing the door open with a hip and then holding it for Shay to come out too.
“Thanks, Bruce!” Shay’s voice is bright and bubbly, happier than she’s been in so long. Maybe ever. I guess I’ve got Luke Bennett to thank for that, not that I would ever thank him for fucking my sister’s grumpiness out of her. But maybe for loving her, putting a ring on her finger, and showing her a world beyond our little pile of dirt . . .
Not that it’s ours anymore.
Nope, thanks for that last knife in the back, Dad. He’d literally forced us to sell the farm when he died with his bad gambling debts, and we’d lucked out that our neighbors, the Bennetts, had wanted the land and had taken our motley crew on as ranch hands and pseudo-family.
The last seven months have been interesting, to say the least, but we’re all settled into our roles for the most part. I’ve even seen Brody smile a time or two, and that’s like winning the Mega Powerball Lotto for billions on a random, computer-drawn list of numbers . . . twice in two weeks. In other words, it doesn’t happen. Ever.
But it did. I saw it with my own eyes, so maybe I’ll pick up a dollar scratch-off while I’m in town and see if my odds are any better than usual. I snort at my own ridiculousness and Shay looks at me questioningly.
“Would you like to share with the class what’s got you giggling?”
For the record, I don’t giggle. Or chuckle. Or laugh. I smile on occasion, but it damn near cracks my face from lack of use. Well, maybe it’s from turning that frown upside down. Hell, maybe Brody’s smiled more than me lately. I’ll have to consider that later.
“I’m fine, Shay, “ I tell her, not answering her question in the slightest, but she lets me put her off. “Need to get going if I’m gonna get back by dinner. What’re you and Mama Louise making? Maybe I should just grab a bite at Hank’s instead?”
She stomps her booted foot. “You’d better not, Bruce Tannen. Family dinner tonight, no excuses.” She purses her lips before tucking the bottom one behind her white teeth. “We’ve got some special news. You’ll be there, right?”
I side-eye my little sister, dropping the not-that-heavy jugs onto my tailgate with a boom as if they weigh a ton. Her hair looks the same as always, brown with some streaks of blonde the sun puts there every summer. Her face is bare with a smattering of freckles across her nose and a bit too much sun on her cheeks from being outside every day. Her frayed shorts and watermelon-stained tank top are her usual work gear, and her boots are dusty and worn.
Nothing’s out of place and nothing’s unusual except for that glint in her eye.
“Are you fucking pregnant, Shayanne?” I grit out. I’m gonna kill Luke Bennett for sticking his dick in my sister. I mean, I know he does, and as much as it guts me, I guess she likes it, because she loves him and shit, but I don’t need proof of their fucking walking around and calling me ‘Uncle Bruce’. Or would a little Luke-Anne call me ‘Uncle Brutal’?
Shit. Neither. Fucking neither is the correct answer.
Like the firecracker she is, Shay doesn’t answer the damn question for two long seconds during which I figure out which field of dirt I can bury Luke’s body in.
Not soon enough, she breaks and laughter rings out. Well, more like donkey guffaws because there ain’t a thing prissy about my sister. But through the hee-haws, I gather that she’s laughing at me.
“Oh, my cheesus and crackers, you should’a seen your face, Bruce! Priceless! Shoot, I wish I’d gotten a picture of that!”
I push closer to her, looming over her like only a threatening big brother can, but she’s not the least bit scared of me. Probably the only person who isn’t in this whole town.
“Shayanne Tannen, are you or are you not pregnant?”
She holds her hand up, admiring the way the sunlight catches her ring. “That’s Shayanne Bennett, and you know it. You were there when Luke and I said our vows about loving and honoring and cherishing and obeying each other. Oh, yeah, especially that last one. You know I love when he tells me what to do.”