Authors: Jeanette Lynn
He's just plain ol’ mean, in my opinion.
He deserves it!
He's probably one of those people who gets his jollies off making women and children cry,
I thought as I examined him surreptitiously, lamenting all that waste of a fine male specimen on such a pessimistic stick in the mud.
Even with the huge scar marring his face, there was no denying it, that bastard is a sexy, sexy beast.
In fact, his scar just adds a little something to his appeal,
for me anyways.
Makes him seem kind of dangerous or something.
However, his personality just plain stinks-
like enchiladas setting out for a week in the hot summer sun mixed with dead animal, stinks-
so all of my musings on that particular subject are a moot point.
Gotta wonder, though, how far the bug had to crawl up his ass to make him such a mean, bitter jackass...
Fingers snapping in front of my face had me quickly snapping out of it.
"What's wrong, gremlin? Did all those magical mushrooms you ate when you were younger finally catch up to you? Turn your brain to mush? You looked like you'd gone catatonic for a minute there."
He sneered, his lip curling up even more on the scarred side, giving him an evil villainous look to him as he mocked me.
I smirked, pretending nonchalance, not giving him the satisfaction of letting him know how much his assumptions about my person actually bothered me.
Of course
his stupid comments hurt my feelings. I'm a human being, after all, and I'm a little
too
sensitive, in truth, for my own good.
Why else do you think I'm such a butt head?
You'd think I'd have toughened up by now, grown some thicker skin, but you can't change how you truly feel about some things.
So, I just build up walls, hiding behind snarky comments and smart assed humor to fake my way through it.
Something in Reeve's expression made me think he was truly, genuinely disappointed by my reactions, or lack thereof.
Not just
'I didn't get a reaction out of her. Bummer',
but more like
'Why the hell isn't she upset? I'm being such an asshole'.
I bet he's used to always getting a certain response from others when he puts on his 'asshole' hat, but he's not going to get it from me.
At least, not that he'll ever be aware of.
He slammed the cupboard shut, the one right above his head where he’d just gotten his coffee cup from a moment ago, and stomped around the kitchen some more.
I fluttered my lashes at him, undeterred by his surliness when he settled for just staring and glaring at me, and I flipped over the pancake in the pan.
He frowned at my amused chuckle, his scowl slipping slightly to give way for mild puzzlement, and I laughed when he looked a little wary, maybe a touch confused as he regarded me so steadily.
I'm beginning to truly understand the depth of Ephraim and Thatcher's paranoia about hired help leaving.
Truly, I do.
Those poor, poor men…
And all those poor, poor souls that must have traipsed through that door, hopeful, only to find out that a beast lived here with no ‘Beauty’ to break the spell or knock him off his pedestal.
Seems like Reeve here makes it his personal mission in life to chase people away.
They must have had to run after a few
, I thought, and smiled at the idea, picturing them doing just that.
This
is
a big ranch after all.
If I had to guess, I would say it was a lot more than a
few
they'd had to haul butt after, and if those people were smart, they probably ignored them and just kept on going.
The silly look on my face had Reeve blinking at me, giving me a look that said he thought I might be smoking a little grass or something in my free time, maybe truly eating some magical mushrooms on the side, for real.
I snorted at the idea, my smile going a little wider.
Like I'd ever sully my beautiful mind with something as trivial as doing drugs.
I'm much too awesome for that.
I mean, who would want to mess up
this?
I thought as I contemplated my brain.
See?
I thought saucily,
even in my own head I'm a little
delusional.
But what can I say? The little people in my mind like me well enough, so it’s all good.
I snickered at my wayward thoughts and turned back to the man at hand.
He's barking up the wrong tree if he thinks I'm going to just give in now and let him win.
Things are just starting to get good.
Give up? Me?
Not this lady.
Nope.
I'm sticking with it until the next victim arrives, then they're all on their own.
All
of them.
"What's the matter tall, dark and unable to burglarize? Cat got your tongue?"
I grinned, eyes crinkling up at the corners when he scowled.
"This coffee tastes like shit," he said after a long pause, grasping at straws.
Woooh, original.
Let's change tactics and just flat out attack her.
Pfft!
Amateur.
"You are what you ingest," I quipped, waving the spatula at him. "Don't like my coffee, make your own. Makes no difference to me,
moonshine
."
"Moonshine, huh?" Bowen asked interestedly, walking into the room, winking at me when he saw the fierce scowl on Reeve's grumpy mug. "How'd you come up with that one, girly?"
"Have you
seen
your brother's rump?" I raised a brow at him questioningly.
He grinned and shook his head 'no', waiting for me to continue, leaning against the counter as he settled himself in for a show.
"It's like looking at two pale moons shining right up at you," I explained, making two big round circles with my hands to emphasize my point, then turning around to flip over another pancake, effectively hiding my shit eating grin.
Reeve choked on his 'shitty' coffee, spluttering and gagging as he tried to pull himself back together, his hand thumping his chest as he tried to cough up all the coffee that, inevitably, had gone down the wrong tube.
I just laughed, shoulders shaking as I manned the stove, and Bowen chuckled from somewhere by the coffee maker.
"What's going on in here?" Sawyer asked, pausing mid-whistle as he sauntered in minutes later.
He took us all in and slapped his hands together excitedly, catching site of the pile of fresh hotcakes on the counter.
"Pancakes! Mmmm, mmm." Not wasting anytime, he walked right over and sidled up next to me.
I handed him one, which had become customary between he and I whenever I make them, and he gave me a quick, thankful peck on the cheek.
Clucking at him, I shooed him away when he would have snagged another one, handing over the platter of already finished hot cakes to Bowen-
the food police-
so he could set it out on the table for the hungry horde to obliterate.
"Hurry up so we can dish ‘em out, Bo," Sawyer urged his brother, ready to dig in, "then I wanna know what Vieve did to make Reeve inhale his coffee like that."
Reeve reached over like he was going to throttle Sawyer, but Sawyer must have already seen it coming and ducked out of the way, grinning as he made his way to his seat.
"What did my honey lamb do now?" Thatcher queried jovially, happy as always at the prospect of food.
Smiling playfully, he made a bee line for the table, detouring quickly when he realized the maple syrup wasn't out yet.
"Thatcher," I growled, eyes narrowing at him warningly.
"Yes, sweetums?" he called sweetly,
too innocently,
grinning, sexy as hell.
Bowen and Sawyer grinned right along too, stuffing themselves with
my
flap jacks as they smiled at
my
expense.
Shoulda put laxative in the batter or something.
"I am
not
your honey lamb." I sighed heavily, disgusted with the nauseating nickname he'd chosen today.
Yesterday was 'pookiekins', so I guess 'honey lamb' is a bit of an improvement since then.
Find the rainbow where you can, Vieve. At least you know he's only joking.
Could you imagine yourself with someone who was really like that?
Pookiekins?
Honey lamb?
Gag!
"Really?" Thatcher asked hopefully, chuckling, loading his plate up, "So, we've just skipped my wooing to dating, then? Should I move my things into your room or do you wanna move into mine?"
He waggled his brows suggestively and licked the syrup now dripping off of his fork, sucking the syrup drips off the end like it was a lollipop.
"Do you want another bloody nose?" I called sweetly.
"You stay outta her room, Thatch," Ephraim warned, coming in with a smile aimed right for me and a head full of cowlicks.
I grinned back and pulled out his plate from the oven, setting it down in front of him when he plopped into his seat.
"Thank you, Genny," Ephraim said gratefully, giving me a quick one-armed hug.
"Hey! How come
he
gets special treatment?" Thatcher complained, huffing and glaring at 'E', pointing his fork at him accusingly.
"I like him best?" I offered, laughing when Ephraim gave his brothers a 'ha ha' look and dug in.
In all actuality, I always save Ephraim a plate of food because he's always the last to sit down to eat, and quite frankly,
the others are pigs
.
Poor absent-minded guy missed his first two breakfasts before I figured out what was going on and tried to help him out a little.
Time management is definitely not his forte.
I don't think he could be on time for anything to save his life, so I gave him a leg up and started putting a plate aside for him.
He's been very helpful ever since.
So sweet too.
And bonus, he tries
really
hard to think before he says something to me.
Key words there being
'he tries'
.
Reeve was watching everything going on intently, taking it all in as they all joked and teased around him, sipping his still shitty coffee.
"Why aren't you eating over here with us?" Ephraim asked, glancing over at me after he'd gotten in a few bites.
"I'll eat in a minute," I assured him. "I just want to get the dishes done first," I lied, gesturing to the pan on the stove and the bowl and mixing spoon in the sink.
The only other available seat was next to Reeve and I wasn't going to admit to anyone that I didn't want to sit next to him.
Everything sounds so petty and childish when you say it out loud.
Probably because it is, nincompoop,
I berated myself.
Ah, yes, but that's only if I say it out loud
, I argued right back with myself.
"What's the matter, my little lamb chop? Don't want to sit next to
old
Reeve over there?" Thatcher snickered at his brother. "You can come sit on my lap," he offered with an innocent expression and a sweet smile, pulling his chair out to pat his knee.
I scowled, hands on my hips, foot tapping the floor in irritation.
Thatcher Harrison, congratulations! You've totally just made it on my shit list!
And here's why!
One,
for calling me out
, and two,
for acting a fool
.
Like I'd ever...
"I'd rather take my chances with
old Reeve
." I hooked a thumb over my shoulder at the man in question, "But I have things to do today. I have to get the dishes done and run."
"Where ya goin'?" Ephraim asked curiously, pausing mid-shovel, pancake poised and ready for consumption.
"You don't ask someone something like that, Ephraim," Bowen cut in, "It could be private." He gave me an apologetic smile, but I could tell the only thing keeping him from asking himself was his own manners.
"But really," Thatcher interrupted, gesturing at me with his fork, "Where ya goin’?"
Maybe I should give him a spoon next time. He likes to use that damn fork to point at people whenever he's eating.
It's a bit unnerving.
I could just imagine his face when he sat down to eat and the only utensil the food monger had at the ready was a spoon.
Yeah, how intimidating could that thing be?
He'd probably have a heart attack
, I thought, stifling a snicker
.