Page 4 of Bookworm
Fucking hell. I can’t turn into the old man.
Chapter Three
Ann
The beds at Misty Oak Ranch are exceptionally comfortable. A firm mattress with thick, luxurious bedding, and the temperature in the house is set low, perfect for sleeping. So then, it makes no sense why I was up all night long twisting my brain in circles, wondering why Holt held eye contact with me so long in the kitchen.
Maybe he hates me. Maybe he hates having someone else around the house. Maybe that’s why he stays out in the barn so late. Maybe‘tour of the ranch’really means Holt is going to fire me or persuade me to leave. He did leave the kitchen exceptionally fast after he’d finished eating, then kicked me out last night after Earl fell.
I pour Earl another cup of coffee and fiddle with the sugar jar in the center of the table. It’s an old, teal-stained mason jar that looks to be older than the house itself, but it’s charming. I love old houses like this. Ever since Granny and I moved to Rugged Mountain, I’ve fantasized about owning an old farmhouse with chipping white paint and an American flag flying out front.
“What’s bugging you this morning, dear?”
I stare at Earl. He has the same eyes as Holt. Brown with flecks of green. Though, Earl’s eyes are surrounded by dark circles and the lines of a life well lived. He reminds me of Clint Eastwood. Older, but still attractive in his own right.
“Oh, nothing.” I redirect my gaze toward him. “Can I get you another biscuit? You didn’t eat much for breakfast.”
He shakes his head. “You know, I’ve lived a lot of years. I probably have advice for you, whatever your dilemma.” His tenacity reminds me of my granny. She’s been known to plunk herself down in the kitchen with a pot of applesauce stewing on the stove behind her, a bushel of apples in front of her, and then demand to know all your secrets. There’s no sugar coating to her. She’s intense. I’m sure by modern standards, people would say it’s borderline mean, but everyone in the family opened up to her. And to her credit, she always has the best advice, no matter what your problem.
But Earl isn’t my granny. He’s Holt’s father, and I’m working for him. I don’t think he’d find pleasure in knowing I thought about his son all night long, tossing and turning to fantasies of his hands all over me.
Nope. That’s weird.
“Thank you,” I finally say, “but I’m fine. It was a busy night for you. I’m sure you’re excited for your nap today.”
“A little.” He yawns and lifts his coffee cup to his lips. “When you get old like me, the caffeine stops working.”
“I don’t think you have to be old for that to happen,” I say, standing from the oak table to help him from his chair. I know he doesn’t need the help. He’s getting around pretty well on his own for just having surgery five weeks ago, but still, I offer it. “I drink two cups in the morning and I’m still yawning all day. What does that mean?”
“It means you needed three cups.” He laughs, and we make our way down the hall toward his bedroom, which is more like a little apartment. There’s a sitting room inside, fitted with a couch, and a wall mounted TV. There’s a separate bathroom and a bedroom just off that. In its heyday, I’d bet the house was the fanciest on this side of the mountain. “You should go out and see Holt if you’re not napping. I’d bet he’ll show you around the farm if you’re interested.”
“Oh! He invited me out there already. I thought I’d head on down after I settled you in.”
Earl looks back at me and raises his thick brows in the air. “Well, I’m settled. Go down there and let him show you the ropes. The man is impatient.” He glances out the window and down toward the red barn ranch that sits on the bottom of a hill. Holt is on the phone, pacing back and forth.
“He looks busy. Maybe I’ll wait for a bit.”
“No.” Earl scoots himself into bed and lifts his good leg before slowly raising the other. “He will stay busy if you let him. You’re helping his mental health. Go say hello.”
“We’ll see,” I say, pulling Earl’s blanket up over him. “I’ll be back in a few hours. You rest well, okay?”
“I’ll rest better knowing you’re down there getting him out of trouble.” He grips my arm in his and looks up at me with a pleading gaze. “Holt is a good guy, but he’s terrible at people. It would mean a lot to me if you could get him out of his head for a bit.”
Wow. No pressure.
“I’ll see what I can do.” I smile kindly, then make my way out of the room before Earl can make any more demands. If anything, I feel like Holt needs to know that his dad truly does have good intentions with him, but it’s not my place. It’s also not my place to interrupt his call. Who knows what business he’s working on? The man trains troubled horses that go to ranches all over the country. I’m sure whatever his phone call is about, it’s more important than me.
Then again, he did invite me, and he has an idea when his dad takes his nap. Maybe he’s just killing time until he sees me leave the house. I pull back the sheer white curtain in the kitchen and look out at Holt, still talking. He’s standing right by the barn door, and he does keep looking up, as though he’s expecting me. Maybe I should go outside.
I chew at the end of my thumb and pace back and forth in the kitchen, my heart thumping wildly against my rib cage.
I’m going to go, right? I should go. I’m going to go.
I grab my coat off the hook and check my hair in the mirror, ruffling it back, then to the side, then back again before opening the front door.
What’s the worst that can happen? He says he’s busy? I’m just doing what he’s asked. I’m showing up on time. I’m punctual. That’s a positive thing.
Stepping across the gravel driveway, I make my way toward the barn at the bottom of the hill. It’s snowed the last few days and there’s a heavy blanket of white on either side of the path, but I step where Holt had stepped earlier, avoiding as much cold as possible. I have no idea how many acres this place is, but the land seemingly goes on for miles with stockade fences bordering different pastures and a crimson red barn sitting at the front of it all.