Chapter 19 Gravel crunches beneath my tires as I turn onto the long driveway leading to Blackbird Ranch. The sign Grandpa proudly hung when he was about my age shines above the gate. The stone pillars that Mom hated stand tall on either side with solar lanterns on top of them. The thought of Hartley using solar anything makes me smile. A wooden fence borders the driveway, separating our private road from the forest on either side. The trees are thick, and the vegetation is dense and dark. Despite not being in those woods for a decade or more, I have no doubt I could find my way through them blindfolded. I peek at Astrid, finding her taking it all in. The feeling of being home settles over my soul. It's been too long since I was here-so long, in fact, that I forgot how the world ends at the start of the gate. Back here, it's a world all its own and ruled by hard work, loyalty, and family. My chest grows heavy as nostalgia for a time long gone takes up residence between my pecs. "You grew up here?" Astrid asks, unbuckling herself. "Yeah. I grew up here with my parents, my dad's dad-my pap-and my brother, Hartley, who you'll meet in a second." Her gaze settles on the main house coming into view. "I know you love rugby and all, but I don't think I could ever leave a place like this. It's so ... peaceful." The way she says it hits me in the heart. "Some things run in the family, I see," she says, laughing. What? I spy Hartley's giant white pickup truck parked just outside the garage. He comes out of the garage with a shit-eating smile and waits for us to pull up. "Look at you," he says, grabbing me for a hug as soon as my feet hit the ground. "How the hell are you? Still a shrimp, I see." I chuckle, taking in his six-foot-one, solid two-hundred-thirty-pound frame. "We both couldn't be great looking, so God gave you height." "You're full of shit," he says, grinning from ear to ear. He takes a step back, and his attention is drawn to movement at the front of my truck. I follow his gaze to Astrid. Her arms are folded across her middle. Gone is the easygoing girl I had in the truck with me. Astrid with the clipboard is back-minus the actual clipboard. "Come here," I say, smiling gently at her. "Astrid, this is my brother, Hartley. Hart, this is my assistant, Astrid." His eyes light up. "This is the assistant?" "Yes." I hide a grin. "This is the assistant." "Whatever he's said about me comes from a place of ego and stubbornness that I fear you know all too well." Astrid holds out a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Hartley." "It's very nice to meet you. I can tell we have a lot in common," Hartley says as they shake hands. A small smile touches her lips. "I gotta run a couple of keys to the guys at the south gate." Hartley turns to me. "You guys can ride with me or head on in and grab a drink." Astrid is more relaxed than she was a few moments ago, but I think introducing her to the crew might be more than she's ready to handle today. Those guys are a rowdy bunch. "We'll stay here," I say. The relief is evident on Astrid's face. "I'll be about thirty minutes," Hartley says, getting into his truck. "The keys are in the side-by-side if you want to take it for a spin." "You're good with staying here, right?" I ask her as Hartley starts the truck. "I was hoping you'd choose that option because I need to pee." "All right. Let's head inside." The steps creak as we climb onto the porch and find the screen door closed. It pulls open with the same hitch it's had my entire life, and something about that makes me smile. "The bathroom is down the hallway," I say, pointing to my right. "First door on your left." "Thanks." I take a deep breath, filling my nostrils with the scent of cinnamon apples. I can't help but wonder if Hartley burns the same candles Mom did or if the scent has leached into the walls. It's the smell of home. I mosey around the living room, taking in the similarities and differences since I was here last. A new mounted deer head, a size bigger than Pap's, hangs on the back wall. We never thought anyone would break that record, but it looks like someone did. Pictures line the built-in cabinets surrounding the television. I take them one by one, many of them in the same spot they have for years. Miniature rocking chairs that Hart and I used as kids are next to the fireplace. The television, though, is new and much bigger-a flat-screen that looks like a picture frame. Mom would've hated it. I find that amusing. "There you are." Astrid comes into the room. "Your brother has the best hand soap that I've ever smelled." She sniffs her fingers. "It's vanilla, I think. Maybe with blueberries." "You'll have to ask Cathy. I'm sure Hartley has no idea." She moves to the window overlooking the backyard. "Who's Cathy?" "She's worked here since I was nine or ten years old. She takes care of the house and took care of Pap. Mom was an ER nurse and worked long shifts, and Dad was busy with the ranch, so Cathy came in and took care of things while everyone was busy." "I love that you all lived here together." I join her at the window. "Yeah, I loved it, too. Pap had a Playboy subscription and a cigar habit. When you're a teenage boy, those are great things to have at your disposal." "You were a handful as a kid, weren't you?" "You could say that." She grins softly. "How much of this do you own?" "Me? I don't own shit, but Hart has over a thousand acres." "Oh. Wow." I slide a hand in my pocket. "It's pretty impressive. He has ... I don't know how many head of cattle. Horses. Chickens. Goats." I study her before I speak again. "Want to take a ride around the property?" She smiles. "Yeah. Sure. I'd like that." We exit the house and head outside. She grabs one of the water bottles from my truck that I bought at Piper's, so I hop on the side-by-side and pick her up. Astrid giggles as we whip around the side of the house, leaving tracks in the yard that I'm sure Hartley will yell at me about later. I hate to tell my brother, but it's worth it. Hearing Astrid enjoy herself is worth all the shit he'll undoubtedly give me, because I sense this doesn't happen often with her. The more I see Astrid without her trusty clipboard, the more I kind of like her. I find myself wanting to know more about her, wondering what makes this confusing woman tick. She handles herself with complete confidence in some moments. In others, she seems almost fearful. Why? "Look at that," she says, pointing at a little spring trickling out of the side of a rock ledge. "That's the cutest thing I've ever seen." I wheel us over to it and slow down. "Want to get out and take a drink?" "No, thanks. I don't want to die of dysentery." "Dysentery?" I snort. "Really?" She wrinkles her button nose. "Fine. I don't want a parasite. Better?" "You won't get a parasite." She looks at me like I'm full of shit. "I mean it," I say, entertained by her reaction. "Mom used to bring jugs out here and fill them up a few times a week. She swore it was healthier than tap water because we got minerals and shit from it. Hartley and I turned out fine." She makes a face. "That's debatable." I laugh, bumping her shoulder with mine as I press the gas once again, and we ride along quietly for a while. Astrid points out the buzzards circling a clearing in the trees, and two deer jumping the fence before darting into the forest. Her eyes twinkle as she takes everything in, and I wish we had more time for me to show her the barns and fields. "Your mom seems pretty cool," she says out of nowhere. "I don't know about cool, but she was a great mom." Astrid leans back in the seat and turns her head to me. "Did you have a good relationship with her?" "Yeah. We all had a good relationship, really. Mom and Dad were strict with us, but we had a lot of fun, too. We'd play euchre together, we had fun traditions for every holiday, and they never missed our games or school shit." I pilot the machine down the hill on a path that's only faintly still visible. "What about your parents? Did you get along with them?" It's a touchy topic. She's told me enough to paint a clear picture of her upbringing-specifically with her father-but I don't want to dig and ask the pointed questions I'd like to have answered. Where was her mother? Was Astrid neglected? Abused? My jaw clenches at the thought of a baby Astrid being in pain and having no one give a shit. "My mom died in childbirth," she says just loud enough to be heard over the motor. Fuck. "I'm sorry." She shrugs helplessly. "You didn't know." She takes a breath. "My grandma lived next door to my dad and me until I was eight, but then she had a heart attack in the front yard while she was taking her trash to the road. I found her after school." My God. My heart aches for her. My fingers itch to grasp her shoulder and pull her into my side-to offer comfort that I doubt she got from her father. "My dad was a sonofabitch." She bristles, tensing again. "And that's all I have to say about that." I should keep my mouth shut. It's not my place to say anything more, or to inject myself into her private world, but I can't help it. I have to say something. "As much as you've annoyed me over the past couple of weeks, you've also been impressive," I say, swallowing through a constriction in my throat. "I hate to think that your strength comes from necessity, especially at such a young age." The corner of her mouth lifts. "I'm glad it did. Otherwise, I would've been a statistic in one way or another." She side-eyes me. "Instead, I'm just a heartless bitch." I blow out a breath, embarrassed. "I'm really sorry I said that to you. It was wholly unfair." She shrugs like it doesn't matter. "Where are we headed?" I don't want to change the subject. I want to apologize until she hears it and believes it, because the locker room ordeal now makes perfect sense. Before, I was sorry for being mean. Now I'm sorry for being unknowingly cruel. But as I start to speak again, I remember something my therapist once told me: an apology is for whoever I hurt, not for me. If I'm truly remorseful for what I said, then I must prioritize what she needs over what I feel like I need. So I have to let it go for now. "I thought you might like to see Sugar Creek," I say, ducking as a strand of thorns whips at me from the side. "It runs through your property?" "There's a joke that the creek touches everyone's property somehow. But, yeah, it runs just a little way down this path." She shifts in her seat. "There was a time not long ago when this would've been dangerous." "Really? Why?" "Because I would've wanted to drown you in the creek." I laugh. "You mean you don't anymore?" "Maybe not today," she says, fighting a grin. We round a large pine tree, and the water comes into view. It's a bit wider and deeper here than in most places. A handful of trees have fallen in the vicinity, and by the looks of the rope swing hanging off a limb and the leaf litter covering the picnic table we hauled down here as teenagers, it doesn't look like Hartley comes back here anymore. "This is beautiful," she says, hopping out with her water bottle in hand. "Wow, Gray. Look at this place." I shut the engine off and climb out, too. "Do you like it?" "What's not to like?" "We used to hang out here all summer. Mom or Cathy would pack us a picnic basket and a cooler full of lemonade, and we'd bring a little radio that I got one Christmas. We'd swim and shoot the shit. It was a good time." No, it was the best time. I let my gaze roam around the land, chastising myself for not truly appreciating life here. Sure, I have great memories with my family, and Brooks and I had a ball, but I had one foot out the door from as far back as I can remember. I was convinced the small-town life wasn't for me. But I've seen the world now and all it has to offer. And, while I've had a lot of experiences-both good and bad-I realize it's not for me, either. I've pondered whether coming back home would make me feel like a failure or inadequate in some way, or if Hartley would have feelings about me coming and going as I see fit. But being here? It's the most contentment I've had in a long fucking time. Astrid peers off the edge of the embankment into the water. "It sounds magical." "They write about this in books. I could suggest some, if you'd like." She glares at me playfully before turning back to the water again. "There are little fishes. Look at that." "There's a heron on your right just upstream." "I can't get over this," she says, looking toward the bird. "Is that a rope swing?" I nod. "Yeah. This is one of the only places in the area where it's deep enough for that kind of thing. The water pools here and gets lazy instead of flowing steadily." "One of my childhood dreams was to use a rope swing. I saw one on-ah!" Astrid's foot catches on an exposed tree root and slips out from beneath her. In slow motion, she falls forward, eyes wide, hair trailing behind her, and water bottle pressed to her chest. She lands with a thud. "Are you okay?" I ask, racing to her side and kneeling beside her. "Does anything hurt?" "I don't think so." She groans, turning onto her side and looking up to me with gold-flecked eyes. The crushed plastic water bottle squeaks as she moves off it. "Nothing besides my pride, anyway." I brush a lock of hair off her cheek, my knuckles swiping against her smooth skin, and a zing of heat rips through me. It doesn't stop until it reaches my toes. Her gaze pierces mine as her lips part, and I can't help but wonder if she felt that, too. "Are you sure you're okay?" I ask as she sits up. "Yeah." She glances down at the front of her shirt. It's soaked from the water that was in her hand, and a dark smudge streaks down the right side of her chest. She groans again. "Oh, great. What is that? Mud?" I shove my tongue in my cheek and decide if I should tell her that the streak isn't from mud. Astrid pulls the fabric away from her body, giving me a clear view of the tops of her round tits. Heat creeps up my neck as I try to look away. Suddenly, she's not a shrew, and she's not the woman I work with. She's a verifiable fox. I can't stop myself from imagining my hands on her body, her nipples in my mouth, and the sound of her voice as she moans. "What is that?" she asks with a shrillness to her tone that snaps me right out of my daydream. "What's what?" She points. "That." I try my absolute hardest not to laugh. "That? That's rabbit poop." She scoots back like it's a pile of poison with the ability to reach out and bite her. The color in her face drains. Her fingers lose their grip on her shirt, and it falls against her again. She squeals, pulling it away from her skin. It's fucking adorable. "Can I get rabies from this?" she asks. "No, you cannot get rabies from this." I twist my lips together, but the laughter comes anyway. "You'll be fine." She hops up and backward, putting more distance between herself and the small pile of shit. "Seriously? I might throw up." "Hey, at least it's not dysentery," I joke. "This isn't funny, jackass." I clear my throat, trying to be serious. "You're right. We'll head back to the house, and you can get cleaned up." "I can't wait that long. I have ... poop on me." She shivers. "What am I going to do?" she whines. "If I had a sports bra on, I'd just take my shirt off." "Not a bad idea." She cocks her head to the side and glares at me. "Hey, leave it on and risk rabies," I say, holding my hands at my chest. "It's up to you." "Remember when I said I hated you less? I didn't mean it." I grin smugly at her as I reach for the hem of my T-shirt. "I'm pretty sure you clarified that then." Her eyes drop to my waist. It feels like trails of lava are left on my skin as she drags her gaze up my body along with my shirt. Over my abs, up my torso, and across my shoulders. Her lips are parted when I ball it in my hands and smirk at her. "Take your shirt off and you can wear mine," I say, holding it out to her. She swallows. "Then what are you going to wear?" "Are you offended by me being shirtless?" She rolls her eyes but takes my offering without touching me. "Turn around." Sure. Take the fun out of it. I twist on my heel. Taking the fun out of things really is her forte. I watch the afternoon sun shine through the trees, casting shadows on the forest floor-and try to forget that Astrid is topless just feet behind me. I'm only a man, after all. One who just realized today that his assistant is fucking hot. "Okay," she says. "You can turn around." I do and find her shirt and bra hanging off her fingers. My tee is tied in a knot at her belly button, the fabric drawn to her middle, showcasing the natural shape of her tits. They're rounded and hang in a sexy drop. Her nipples strain against the cotton. Thank God I wore gray and not black today. "Don't make this weird," she says, trudging by me to the side-by-side. "There's not a damn thing weird about this." "You're making it weird." I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling and climb into the seat beside her. She places a hand over her chest and lifts a brow at me. "Try not to Indy 500 it back to the house, please," she says. "As you're well aware, I don't have a bra on." "Who said I was aware of that?" I look at her over my shoulder and find her fighting a grin, too. "Thanks for telling me." I shift the transmission into drive. "That's good to know." "Gray!" she squeals, breaking into a fit of laughter as I stomp on the gas. The sound of her laughter follows us all the way home. And despite thoroughly enjoying that Astrid can laugh at the situation, it also causes a knot to form in the bottom of my gut. My assistant is not only a smoke show, but she's also really fucking funny. Fuck me.