Trent shook out his arm. “I don’t goof off. I’m taking it easy. For once in our lives we don’t have to bust ass and you’re ruining it for the rest of us.”
Lane pulled open his truck door. “So sorry that I’m not in the mood to lay around. Work needs to be done.” It was their life. Hell it was all any of them had ever known. Lane just had another reason for keeping busy. He had to get out of here before he ended up spilling his guts. He and his brothers, they were tight as any army. Didn’t keep shit from one another. Not ever.
But Lane had. And now it was too late.
Trent wasn’t letting off so easy. “Come with us to grab a beer tonight.”
“Nope.”
“Pansy.”
Lane only raised an eyebrow and pulled his truck door closed. He rested an arm against the windowsill as a warm breeze eased through the hot truck and dried the sweat dripping down his temple. It was tempting to grab a beer, but the thing of it was, this was why he worked hard all day. So that when this offer came up, he really would be too damn tired to give in. It sucked. He hated it, but in the mornings when his head was clearer, he was thankful and started the day over just the same. “Have better things to do.”
“What’s more important than quality time with your brothers?”
Not much, but the lie came out easy enough. “Sleep and food.”
His brother Grant walked over and rested an arm against the cab of the truck. “Is he coming?”
“Nope.” Trent shrugged. “Says he needs sleep and food.”
Grant shook his head. “You can get food at the bar. You’re coming with us.”
Lane started his truck, more and more anxious to get out of there now. “No. I have food at home. A shower and a bed. Do you have a problem with that,
Babycakes
?”
Grant’s smile faltered. “You almost say that as cute as Rebecca does.”
Rebecca was Grant’s pregnant girlfriend. And why the two of them hadn’t married yet escaped him. Because they were clearly happy together and didn’t look to be splitting up anytime soon. A family was on the way, all the things Lane wanted. He cursed himself and had to get out of here. “Piss off.”
“I think he’s being a cranky-pants.” Trent pushed his hands in his pockets. “He forgot you’re the baby in this family.”
Lane shook his head and left the lot. He wasn’t cranky. Apple Trail was the last place on Earth he ever wanted to be. It was too easy to be with his brothers. It was all he could ever want, but the secrets he carried caused too much guilt. Every time he saw his brothers, looked at them, the guilt weighed heavier and heavier. He’d made a promise not to tell and he wouldn’t. No matter how much it killed him.
He parked at his trailer for another lonely, long night until daylight when he could get back to work. But this time, he wasn’t alone. A small white ice chest sat in front of his door. The parking lot was empty. No one was on their porches at other trailers. Only the faint sound of someone’s wind chime being tickled by the breeze made any noise.
A rock sat atop the chest and the corners of a piece of paper flickered in the slow breeze.
Everyone should eat something home cooked once in a while.—G
His lips tugged, then he thought better of being amused by it. That’s how it started. Being amused. Interested. Being on his back with her across his lap and her tits bouncing as she rode him. He shook his head and let himself in, but couldn’t help but squat and crack open the cooler before getting his boots off. Warm air escaped the small box. A thick towel was over the top and he couldn’t resist peeking under it. Hot steam slithered out carrying moan-inducing, body melting scents of food perfection. Several plastic box containers were stacked up the center and a couple of hot water bottles surrounded them.
Now this was a woman.
He pulled open the first box and groaned at the huge slab of chicken fried steak. Crispy on the edges. Juices seeped between the cracks of the thick golden brown coating. Steaming peppery spice of fried goodness rose from the package. Another container was next to it and he lifted to see a small tub of white peppered gravy. His eyes all but rolled up into the top of his head from pure-passing-out joy. His favorite. And he was going to enjoy it. He sealed the lid down, put it back in the chest and closed the cooler for a quick shower first. Then he’d open that treasure trove of goodness.
He paused on the way to the shower. With a growl rumbling his stomach, he swiped a hand over his face. Then he was going to have to return the chest and the containers.
Gretchen tapped her toe and stared at the present she’d found on her doorstep. Her ice chest. All the plastic containers washed and returned. And a note.
It was awesome. -L
Flora leaned over her shoulder. “I don’t think I understand.”
Gretchen laughed. “I leave him dinner on his porch before he gets home. He brings me my dishes back before I can wake up the next morning. Or he sneaks them back on my porch late at night. I don’t know which.”
Flora shook her head. “I have no idea what all this means.”
Gretchen smiled and stacked her containers to the side where they’d stay until she repacked them this evening. For a week they’d worked this routine. “They say the quickest way to a man is through his stomach.”
“That’s to his heart, Gretchen. I know it’s been a while, but what you’re looking for is a bit farther south. And you said you weren’t going there and that he was leaving.”
She put the cooler on the floor and turned for her coffee pot. “I know, but it’s a step toward him.”
Flora added spoonfuls of sugar to her coffee thermos. “I still don’t understand, but as long as you keep giving me leftovers, I’m not going to complain.”
She chuckled. “I can’t cook for just two people. It doesn’t look like enough in the pan.”
Flora tightened her lid on. “Do something I’d do today.”
Gretchen lifted her brow. “You’re going to clean pipes and play in sewers, I’ll pass.”
Flora shrugged. “Pays the bills.”
“That it does, but do you want to think of me digging around a septic tank while I fix your supper tonight?”
Flora winced. “Good point. I’ll do the dirty, you feed me.” Flora slapped a commanding hand on the counter. “And I want pie this time, Woman!”
Gretchen laughed and shook her head. “Only if you’re lucky.”
“I feel lucky.” She grinned. “I bet Lane would like pie too.”
“You think so?”
Flora nodded. “He’s a man. They all like pie and sex. It’s like, part of their DNA. They think of both at least a hundred times an hour.”
“
Flora!
”
She grinned. “Make it a peach pie. Haven’t had one of those in ages.”
Gretchen shook her head. “I’m not sure if you’re that lucky today.”
She grinned. “If you’d jump his bones, I bet I’d get my peach pie.”
“There you go with the bones again.”
Flora stopped with a hand near the door. “What’s on for Project Landing Lane today?”
Gretchen tapped her fingers on the counter. “More dinner. But I think I’m going to change it up a little.”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t gotten to that part yet.”
“I vote for pie. Pie would be different. And you said once spring got here, we’d all get the good pies again.” She grinned. “Later, love.”
“Bye.” The front door pulled closed and Gretchen shook her head. She sat at her desk to sort through payments and the like, but thanks to Flora, all she could think of was pie. Flora liked all kinds of pie. In fact, she’d probably never met a pie she didn’t like. Gretchen had promised the good pies now that she could buy fresh—in season—fruits again.
All the girls liked pie. Gretchen made an assortment of pies at least once a month. And if the mood was right, a stopwatch was broken out for the slowest eaten pie contest ever. One Gretchen was currently winning with the quickest time. Twenty-six minutes for a nine-inch lemon meringue.
But what kind of pie did Lane like? She closed her eyes, trying to remember what had been in his freezer. She’d cooked off what frozen dinner meals she’d seen in his freezer all week. Spaghetti, chicken fried steak, Salisbury steak, fettuccini, and then enchiladas tonight.
She hadn’t been adding desserts…but now Flora mentioned pie. She sighed. Enchiladas. That surely needed some sort of lemon pie. Or Lime. No wait. Sopapillas. Wasn’t pie, but it was perfect. She scratched notes down, pulled her menu together for that evening and then returned to her bookwork.
This meal would be different. She figured anyway. Hoped. It was time to change up the routine of slipping in under his skin. While she got what Flora said about him being open for just sex because he was a man, Gretchen had to disagree.
There was something about the way he’d quit kissing her the other day. And how he returned the containers. If he was all game for it, he wouldn’t sneak them back, would he?
Landing Lane
, she snickered, was going to be a long process. Not a short one.
She dove into her bills, paperwork and clients for maintaining the trailer park. Her late husband had started this place and she’d just barely figured out the way he’d numbered the trailers when she’d lost him. It’d taken a lot of hours and dedication to keep it all up, figure out his system of accounting and then finally giving up and just doing things her way.
She sighed at the clock. Seeing mid-afternoon, she stepped away from her desk, her thoughts heavy on Paul. It wasn’t fair. Her eyes filled and she swiped them off. One of these days she’d stop that. At least, she hoped she would. Not even six months. They hadn’t even had six months together and still…six years later she thought of him daily.
How that happened, she didn’t know. She sank into a shady spot on her front porch and tucked her legs up. How was she supposed to move on from what she had? It wasn’t that she didn’t want to move on, she did. She just didn’t know how to tell her heart.
Paul had been perfect and wonderful. What kind of man could measure up to perfect? None and that’s why she should move ahead with a pretend relationship made up of nothing but sex.
She rubbed at the pink polish on her toes and just enjoyed the warm spring sun that had moved in on her shady spot. There were no answers sitting around waiting for her, but she sat anyway, soaked in the gentle breeze and the birds chirping in the trees. Honeysuckles were blooming somewhere and the sweet scent was steady in the air.
It was easier to just sit sometimes. Gretchen liked easy and it seemed things were often not as easy as she remembered them being.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you just sitting before.”
She started and looked up to find Lane squatted before her. His elbows rested on his knees as he balanced on his toes. His face just a few inches from her. She swallowed, looking for words, but it was hard to find any around the pounding in her chest. “I was….”
He pulled his sunglasses off, a brow lifted. “Lost in thought?”
She smiled. “Yeah.” She stretched and unfolded her legs out from under her. “What time is it?”
“Five.”
“Five?” She stood from her chair, pushed bangs from her face, then dropped back in her chair. “I’ve done nothing but sit here for the past few hours.” She rubbed sleep from her eyes. Lord, maybe she had fallen asleep, but she didn’t think so. “Uh, dinner is going to be late.”
He chuckled. “How about you skip it tonight?”
Her brows pulled in. “I guess.”
“I haven’t had one of my frozen meals in a while.”
Ick. And before she thought better of it, her mouth was opening and she was telling him what she thought of that idea. “Ew.”
“Have you ever had one?” His brow cocked up in a challenging way, daring her to refuse his offering as he stood.
Not that she had plans to refuse him anyway. For a chance to see him, she’d stuff down a frozen meal or two. “Not since I was kid and couldn’t use the stove.”
“Come on.” He held his hand out and crooked his fingers at her.
She slipped her hand in his and held tight to the sigh that longed to ease out. His hand wrapped around hers. Could crush hers in seconds and by the scars on his knuckles, they’d seen a lot of hard work. But he was all gentle touch. Soft grasp as he pulled her from the chair. “Where are we going?”
“To fix you dinner.”
She smiled and walked with him down her steps. She should probably talk, make conversation and all, but this was nice. The simple companionship as he walked her around his truck and pulled open the door.
The leather seats were torn in a few spots. White strings hung from the ripped edges. Yellow foam was trying to explode out. The inside smelled of dirt and grease and other man smells. This was a working truck and she was grateful she’d worn denim shorts instead of a white skirt today. She climbed in and he closed the door behind her. The plastic on the door was cracked. Grime filled the markings of the plastic. A layer of dirt was over the dash. The floorboard looked like a dustpan of loose dirt and boxes of some sort of parts. A giant-sized cup was in the holder from Tonya’s diner.
He got in on the other side, glanced at her and winced. “Uh, sorry. I live out of my truck sometimes.”
“It’s okay.” She wouldn’t mention it was a short drive and she could have just walked from her trailer, but this was interesting. More clues into the life of Lane Iverson. Clues she didn’t really need for their pretend relationship of just having sex, but she couldn’t help but suck all this in.
He adjusted the vents and cold air blasted her face and across her shoulders. Chills covered her, but he said nothing as he stopped in front of his trailer. She hopped down and met him at the front of the truck.
They’d fallen into silence again, but this time it was awkward. He turned to her a couple of times, then stared at his keys. Then back to her.
She pushed her hands in her pockets. “So what’s for supper?”
“Your choice.” He flipped through the keys and opened the front door, allowing her to enter first.
She slipped her shoes off at the door out of habit and walked in, but it was a little different this time. Not as a manager looking at his home. But as a girl wondering about the man behind it. Not that she hadn’t been doing that last time, but this time she had excuses for bending at his end table and touching the fish baits whereas last time, she’d only been able to look from afar.