Page 7 of The Burbs and the Bees
“Yup, they’re fine.” He picks a long piece of hay off the seat and tosses it into his mouth to chew on it. “When are the new owners taking over? Running two farms is a bitch. I wouldn’t mind reclaiming my personal life, you know. I’ve got chicks to—”
“Disappoint,” I tease with a grin.
“Fuck you.”
I scowl at him for his language, even though it’s a waste of my time. “Couple weeks. That’s what I heard anyway. We have to continue to take care of the animals until the new owner arrives. The market was supposed to open today, but we can hold off on that.”
“I don’t mind taking care of the animals, even though that damn llama is sweet on me. But I hate being inside that stink-ass barn.” He pulls the piece of hay from his mouth. “Hey, did you know the llama tried to give me a hickey?”
“Mr. Matthews does have some interesting animals.” I chuckle as I think about the farmer who used to live next door. The man was like a grandfather to us all. It was only during the reading of his will when he left his farm to a relative that we learned he had family. We’ve taken it upon ourselves to care for the farm until the relative shows up. That’s how things are done in our neck of the woods. “The new owner will be here soon enough.”
“I hope the new farmer has a daughter who is hot.” He produces a dimple as he flashes me a smile.
I shake my head. “Is that all you think about?”
“Seventeen, remember?” he says, and I laugh.
I remember seventeen, for the most part anyway. Partying, drinking, staying out late, getting arrested for vandalism. Jesus, I hated Dad’s disapproving stares, but I was a dumbass kid in with the wrong crowd.
A car horn sounds from behind and pulls me from my reverie. In front of me, Alyson flicks on her signal and swerves around an orange roadside cone to pull into the drive-through at a local coffee shop. I drive past and take one last look at her in my rearview mirror before I hit the highway. That’s that.
“Maybe a hot girl will take the farm over, and you two can…” He taps his clenched fists together again, and I ignore him. He’s playing with me, I get it, but when I catch the hint of concern in his eyes, my stomach clenches, the way it always does at the reminder of my bachelorhood. My kid brother worries about me. Hell, everyone worries about me, but they don’t need to. I’m perfectly fine.
“The guy taking it over might need our help for a while,” I inform Tyler.
He twirls the hay between his lips. “What do you know about him, anyway?”
“Other than his name is Reid, not much.”
Tyler grabs his ball cap, tugs it on, and lowers it over his eyes. “Wake me when we get home. I’m partying with Shay tonight after Beck’s birthday dinner and need my beauty sleep.”
“You two have been hanging around a lot.”
“Your point?”
“Nothing. No drinking,” I say. Shay Banks is a nice girl, from what I know of her. Her older brothers, on the other hand… They’re trouble, and it’s hard
enough to keep my wild-child sibling on the straight and narrow as it is.
“Whatever you say, Dad.”
“Smart-ass,” I mumble.
I reach the highway and drive the rest of the way listening to the radio over Tyler’s snoring. As I approach farm country, the afternoon sun shining down on the crops in the fields and the tree in the orchards, the thick scent of hay in the air, I turn down our dirt road. The old farmhouse rises up before me. Mom is on the porch, hulling the strawberries she grows in her private garden, and in the distance, Beck is in the pasture brushing his horse.
I shove Tyler to wake him, and he wipes the drool from his face. “We’re here,” I say and open my door. I step from the truck, and the scent of hay is replaced by that of fresh apple pie.
“What are you doing in your drawers?” Mom asks when she catches sight of me in nothing but my boxers.
“Fell in the water,” I grumble.
Now she sits up a little straighter. “At Peggy’s Cove?”
“Yeah, I was warning a tourist to get of the rocks, and they slipped, dragging me in with them.”
Tyler slides from the car, waves to Mom, and takes off toward Beck, leaving me to deal with the lobster. My boots sink into the wet soil as I open the back, tossing the woolen blanket over my shoulder.
“Damn tourists,” she murmurs.
