Brazing (Forged in Fire #2) (11 page)

“Yeah, but like after,” she whispered. “Are you helping with the church meal?”

“Oh, of course.” Like my grandparents would let me get out of that. Cancer. Typhoid Fever. Ebola would not stop them from forcing me to spend my evening with the less fortunate in their humble community.

Not that I was complaining. I was actually looking forward to serving those people.

And to being on the opposite side of the serving line this time around.

“Good.” She glanced over my shoulder. “I’ll be there too.”

“Yay?”

She threw her head back and laughed. “My brothers are all morons. All of them. Not one of them was blessed with brains. That all fell to me.
Luckily
they have me and I’m going to help you out.”

“Oh, boy,” I sighed. “I feel like maybe you’re going to get us into trouble.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I am! It’s going to be so much fun!”

“For me too?”

She glanced into the kitchen again and then said sincerely, “I hope so. You like him, don’t you?”

I bit back a groan. I could lie to this girl, or I could carpe diem the crap out of today. I felt like utter shit. My next treatment was going to be brutal. And my parents had been dropping hints about a visit. I had no reason to be optimistic.

Except for maybe this one small thing.

“I do. Like you said, he’s a moron. But I’m starting to think maybe I have a thing for morons.”

“That is excellent news!” she squealed. “I’m enlisting help. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Good help?”

“The best.”

“He’s going to kill you, isn’t he?”

She laughed like the evil villainess I knew she was. “It’s so worth it.”

“Willa, now tell Cami that she doesn’t have to put herself out. I just appreciate her company. She doesn’t have to bake for me too.” Grams walked back into the room with Bridger at her side.

He glanced suspiciously between us and didn’t relax. Willa and I took a step apart and smothered our conspiratorial grins.

Willa swallowed a laugh. “Cami loves to bake.”

“Now, no lying, Sugar,” Gran scolded. “But I will say, she’s getting better. The crust on that pie is almost edible.”

I wondered who Cami was and why she would bother baking inedible pies. Seemed like a waste of time to me, but then again, my mama had me in the kitchen with her ever since I could stand on a chair and help her knead dough. Baking wasn’t something I struggled with.

“We have to get going,” Bridger announced. “Stockton will be wondering what happened to us.”

Willa bounced forward and wrapped me up in a quick hug. I immediately responded. God, this girl was so full of life. I loved it.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she whispered before pulling back.

Bridger walked by me with narrowed eyes. “You two are best friends now? I was gone two whole minutes.”

I shrugged one shoulder and pressed my lips together. Willa walked over to the door, ignoring him completely.

“Happy Thanksgiving, ma’am,” he called over his shoulder on the way out the door. “Hey, Tate.”

“Hey, Bridger.”

He paused in the doorway while Willa took off through the cold night for their car. Grams wandered back into the kitchen which seemed out of character for her, but I wasn’t going to complain.

“Food poisoning again?” His green eyes glittered as he took in my baggy sweatpants, my frayed t-shirt and greasy hair.

“Are you saying I look like bad?” I pushed at my hair self-consciously. I knew I looked bad, but yeesh! He wasn’t supposed to call me out on it. Besides, I was way better today than I was yesterday. That should mean something. I should get points for that!

His lips twitched and his eyes brightened. “That’s not what I said at all.”

“You think I’m ugly,” I accused. I didn’t really think he thought that, but I wanted to tease him.

“I don’t think you’re ugly.”

And okay, I wanted to hear him say that too.

“I need a shower,” I finally admitted.

“Maybe,” he laughed. “What are you and my sister up to?”

I laughed nervously. “I have no idea.” And that was the truth.

He grunted something unintelligible in reply. “Have a good Thanksgiving, alright?”

“Alright.” I took a step forward and then remembered my smelliness. I couldn’t remember putting deodorant on today. Probably a sign that I did not put it on today. I decided to leave him some breathing room. “You too.”

“Yeah, alright,” he nodded and then walked backwards out the door. “Later.”

“Later,” I called back.

I shut the door behind him and a slow smile spread across my face. I didn’t know what Willa had planned for me or tomorrow night, but I couldn’t help but be excited.

I finally had an ally in the Wright family. And I might finally make some forward progress with this confusing boy.

That was enough for me to forget my sickness for one night and prepare myself for Gram’s healing soup and maybe get excited enough to eat some.

Next time I came face-to-face with Bridger, I was determined not to look like a corpse. He would have to get me in all my full-of-life-never-give-up glory. I wouldn’t just smell good, I’d look good too.

My raincloud wouldn’t know what hit him.

Chapter Eleven

Bridger

I smacked my palm against the steering wheel for the millionth time. It was too much to ask for her to come to Constance and keep company with a storm shelter or maybe take part in some survivalist program—far, far away in a cave—where I didn’t have to see her—or think about her—or have to look her in the eye and tell her that she wasn’t ugly.

As if any man in their right mind would ever think that Tate Halloway was anywhere in the same hemisphere with ugly.

Hell, she wasn’t even in the same hemisphere as pretty—she was drop dead, hit your head on the floor, and sleep forever in a coma, gorgeous from head to toe. Stupid me thought it was the cowboy boots or the tight skirts. I’d made up excuses about it—imagined that if you put that outfit on any girl they would appear just as attractive.

I was a dumbass.

Willa was right—she got all the brains in the family.

Even disheveled and unshowered, the girl put the word beautiful to shame—made it cower in the corner and beg for forgiveness for even thinking it stood a chance against her.

God, I’ve become this internal sap.

It just added to the ridiculousness that was Bridger Wright lately.

It was embarrassing enough to have to bring Cami’s inedibles to Preacher Wife’s house as a gift—they were more like a punishment. Poor Cami—she tried. She tried so hard to be a normal, everyday Pioneer woman. Her pies smelled like they were freezer burnt—either that or burnt to a crisp—nothing in between.

Me? I didn’t even try for some semblance of normality. Like earlier tonight, I just stood there in the doorway of that house that made me feel like a sinner at heaven’s doorstep as I looked in at her, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

I couldn’t even tell her goodbye. I said ‘later’ like I was so street. I was the very opposite of street—or gangster—whatever in the hell it was called.

Grade A bastard, that’s what I was.

Someone print it on a shirt.

It was one thing for her to be at school where it was easy to avoid her—but here in this tiny town where it was breaking news every time someone farted crooked, it was almost impossible to avoid anything. I was surprised we’d made it a whole two days without running into each other.

Then again, she looked like she hadn’t made it out of the house much. Tate resembled the faint green from when I’d taken her to the hospital before.

I wondered why she always looked frail. She didn’t act frail.

“Tomorrow is going to be fun.” Willa’s head was turned toward the window. Her voice carried a tinge of mischief in it—always had. More like a whole suitcase of mischief. There was a way in which you dealt with Will Wright. If you let on that something was up and you were privy to it, she’d make the follow-through truly painful in the way that only sisters can make things painful for their brothers. Like embarrass them in the worst way possible—or have them kicked in the nuts—or belittled in front of a hot girl.

One time she took a pair of battery operated clippers to the back of my head after she saw it on Jackass at a friend’s house.

Stockton banned her from that friend’s house.

And I had to shave my head down to the skin.

Still, I loved the goof. And I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her.

“Tomorrow is going to be work. We have to feed over a hundred people and then deliver meals to the ones who couldn’t get to the church.”

Since I was old enough to carry a basket of biscuits or a jar full of cranberry sauce, I’d spent my Thanksgivings at the church helping out. Dozens of turkeys were deep fried or baked, and everything that went with them was prepped for a day of sharing.

‘Only in sharing and kindness can we truly give thanks.’ That was what my dad used to say. 

Lord above, please let Cami not try to bake pies for tomorrow. The church will never have another parishioner again. They will all go to hell rather than eat more of Cami’s pies.

“Of course it will be work. But there’s always fun to be had, especially now that I’ve got a new friend.”

She said the word friend like most people said alliance.

Willa said friend and I heard cohort.

I refused to acknowledge the hole that the hillbilly twins, now the hillbilly trifecta could get me into.

I threw the truck into park but locked the doors with the automatic button when she tried to get out. The gleam in her eye read matchmaker. I’d seen that look before. She’d set up West on so many dates, there was no one else in town for him to date.

“Look Willa, don’t go sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. That girl is nothing but trouble.”

Sexy as hell, makes me want to grab her up and kiss her senseless trouble—but trouble nonetheless.

Trouble like Tate Halloway comes with a side dish of scandal.

She turned on me in a blink. “What part of ‘I have a new friend’ has anything to do with you Bridger?”

“The part where you two were whispering about something when I came back in the room. Don’t meddle, Willa. Besides, she practically threw me out of her life the last time I saw her. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. Leave it be.”

She didn’t seem impressed with my commands. Instead, she rolled her so big they were almost cartoonish eyes at me and flicked with the door handle, demanding I let her out.

Why couldn’t I just have brothers and a sister who minded their own business? It would be easy. We could just buy one of those houses that is so big you can just live your own life without ever seeing the other people. Stockton and Cami could make-out on their side, West could do all the nasty things he does on his side,Willa could meddle in outsiders’ business all she wanted and I could stay in my wing, oblivious to the world and Willa’s blatant disregard for my adamancy against anything that had to do with Tate Halloway.

I didn’t see the issue.

We could be one of those dysfunctional families.

Those seemed nice.

I popped the locks on the truck and she jumped down. My bold sister practically ran up the steps to the house and past the open screen door. It was cooler than normal for this time of year, but not nearly cold enough to warrant heat. Cami probably had it open to waft out the gag-worthy aroma of her mincemeat pies. Whoever told that woman that people in this town liked mincemeat pies should be tarred and feathered, old-school style.

Through the lit window of the kitchen, I could see Willa and Cami, head to head, talking about something.

No, not something—someone.

Nope, I wasn’t having it.

I stomped into the kitchen and gave them my best stink eye.

“What crawled up your ass and rotted?”

Leave it to West to ruin a perfectly angered moment. 

“These two are conspiring against me.” I pointed an accusatory finger in the direction of the Wright girls. “Willa and Cami are—they’re—they up to something!”

“Ooooohh…” West clapped his hands together and rubbed them maniacally. “I wanna help. Is it about Tate? I like her. She’s gingerlicious. He’s been a real dicktater since Tate showed up.”

I canted my head in his direction as he said “dicktater.” I really thought he was going to say that other word that I’d banned him from saying or talking about the action that it described.

He was also banned from potatoes in general.

West was a real sicko.

He stood. “I didn’t say that word. You nearly took my left nip off the last time I said it. And I only did it that once—just as an experiment.”

“What’s he talking about? I didn’t understand half of it.” Stockton came into the room from outside smelling of embers and ash. It reminded me of my dad, who would, by the way, roll over in his grave if he heard West using words he’d found on the Urban Dictionary.

“Here let me show you.” All three of them huddled around West’s tablet as he showed them the Urban Dictionary online.

I tried to interrupt. “I don’t think Willa should see that.”

Cami slapped a hand over Willa’s eyes before she could get that kind of education. At least someone listened to me once in a while.

A clap rang out as Stockton popped West on the back of the head.

“Boy, you need to go to church. Our mama would die a second death if she knew you were using that kind of language—and around our sister! That’s it. You’re sitting in the front pew on Sunday.”

West turned off the tablet, still laughing at everyone’s disgust. Sometimes, I thought West did all these things for the shock factor. He consistently came up with ways to keep us shocked. Any time we tried to talk about Mama or Dad, he’d turn into a jester.

“If I sit in the front pew, Preacher will spit on me. And if Deacon Jacobs does the praying, he’s liable to cannon his dentures at me. I will vomit—right there in the church. I swear to G…”

“West!”

Cami and Willa were huddled together laughing their asses off at Stockton’s glaring offense at what we already knew about West.

He was the clown of the family. His comedic tendencies had been smothered in the last few years, but college life with me had apparently awoken the beast.

Nothing was going to stop that. Not a knock on the head, not first pew in church and certainly not prayer.

Believe me, I’d tried praying for him until I was blue in the face.

“Can you at least curb your vulgar mouth through Thanksgiving?”

West rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun anymore, old man.”

A rage boiled in Stockton’s eyes. He hated being called “old man.” West had apparently pushed that button one too many times. Cami’s eyes bulged out. She knew something bad was about to happen. West’s antics had gone unchecked by Stock for too long.

Run, West, run!

“That’s it.”

Before we could stop the spiral of madness, Stockton had West by the collar and was dragging him outside with a smile on his face that only the rest of us could see. West clung to the doorframe, the railings, and then finally in a desperate attempt, grabbed the elephant ears Cami had planted by the stairs—but each time, Stockton jerked his hands-free and continued on like he was pulling a spider out of the house—deadly and vile. The three of us followed, Cami, Willa and I, not because we were concerned for West, but because it was hysterical.

Apparently ‘old man’ was the button to push if you wanted to crawl under Stockton’s skin.

Around the side of the house, West begged in a feminine tone which he was a little
too
practiced at. “Come on, Stock. You’re not old. You’re young and spry and such a big, handsome man. Look at those bulging arms, so sexy.”

They were both laughing at that point, but Stockton wasn’t letting up. He was wearing his overalls and you knew if Stockton was wearing overalls, he wasn’t to be messed with.

It was a thing. Overalls equaled no bullshit.

“Shut up. Say you’re sorry Weston Alexander Wright.”

Stockton was holding the garden hose and though it wasn’t as cold as usual, it was still cold enough for being sprayed with water to be a punishment. There were parts of me that shrunk up just at the thought.

West’s palms were facing Stock. “Okay, okay. Shit. I’m sorry—old man.”

And that was the moment we found out the real truth—the sick, ugly truth of my little brother. It was cruel for God to make him that way.

We all discovered his scream.

West Wright screamed like a cat being neutered with a red-hot spoon under no anesthesia.

It was embarrassing.

It embarrassed me to be his brother.

Stock hosed him until he was almost drowning.

Eventually, the torture stopped. Stockton and the rest of us were laughing so hard we could barely breathe. West finally got up, soaked but didn’t look like the hosing fazed him at all.

“I’m sleeping with the sheep,” West announced, trampling, dripping and faking anger, toward the sheep—the ones we didn’t own.

“We don’t own sheep, you moron,” I called out.

West threw his arms up to the sky. “Can’t a guy catch a break around here?”

“Alright you two. Stockton, that’s enough. And West, take those wet clothes off before you come inside. Don’t think I’m going to clean up that mess.”

Cami had gone from giggling teenager to motherly matriarch in seconds.

“Fine. But I’m not sitting in the front with Sir spits a lot and the denture launcher.”

That’s when the spraying started all over again.

~~

By the time we’d started feeding the masses that came for the church’s annual Thanksgiving dinner, I couldn’t smell anything but turkey. The smell of sage and pepper coupled with the comforting aroma of poultry had embedded itself into my mucus membrane. I doubted I’d ever smell another thing in my life besides turkey—which wasn’t a bad thing—ever.

“She keeps looking over here.” Willa bumped my shoulder and some mashed potatoes from her industrial-size serving spoon flicked onto my shirt. I’m sure that was ultra-sexy—the instant mashed potato look.