Falling For A Redneck (14 page)

After much hubbub on the part of the boys, they were finally on their way
, a way that seemed to involve a lot of abrupt turning.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “It looks like you’re backtracking.”

“I am. I want to make sure no one follows us.”

An icy shiver went through her
. Surely he didn’t think her stalker would go so far? But judging by the way he kept checking his mirrors, he did.

No longer so excited,
Marissa said not a word and just let him drive, anxiously watching her own side mirror for any cars that might appear as if they were following them.
Just like the movies
, she thought, but much scarier now that she played the main role.

After an hour of circles, he finally got on the highway and drove for only a little bit before pulling off at an exit outside the city.

“Are we already there?”

He glanced
over at her with a smile. “Not quite. But I’m famished. We were so busy getting ready to leave this morning that I skipped breakfast, and I’m pretty sure the boys’ bowls of cereal are long gone.”

Dirk parked the car in the lot of a greasy spoon that’s main claim to fame seemed to be all
-day breakfasts. While there were a few cars parked, Marissa noticed that, for the most part, the clientele seemed to drive big rigs.
Great, a whole restaurant full of rednecks.

Walking into the grease
-filled air of the vinyl- and Formica-decor diner, she revised that to include big-bellied cowboys and ruddy-faced lumberjacks. The powerful aroma of sizzling bacon, oil-fried potatoes, and very strong coffee assailed her, along with the unmistakable scent of unwashed men.
I can’t eat here
, she thought, appalled as Dirk led her to a dented table in a corner with bench seating.

The boys scooted in with Dirk beside Avery
, and Marissa, with a cringe at the possibly germ-ridden seat, slid in beside Mason. She kept her hands in her lap, eyeing the Formica table with dismay. Coffee stains, jam, and crumbs. Marissa wished hard for some rubber gloves, a bottle of Lysol, and a rag. Did these people have no notions of cleanliness?

A frazzled
-looking waitress in a faded and stained pink apron bustled over, her mouth working furiously on a piece of gum.

She whipped out menus like
Frisbees and told them she’d be right back to take their orders.

Unable to help herself,
Marissa leaned forward and whispered, “You can’t seriously mean to eat here?”

“Why ever not?” he asked
, arching a brow and opening his menu.

“Look at this place. The grease and calories alone in one of their home fries is a heart attack waiting to happen. Not to mention, I think the Health Department has forgotten to visit this place in a while.”

Lips quirking in a grin, Dirk shook his head at her. “The place is a little rundown, I’ll grant you, but the food is fantastic. As for counting calories and all that, I say, why? We’re all going to die of something or other eventually. With that said, life is too short to deny oneself the simple pleasures. Come on, live a little, princess. Will it kill you to try?”

Marissa just glared at him. She did not intend to get food poisoning, so when the waitress returned
, she just handed back the menu. “Sorry, I’m not hungry right now.”

With a shake of
his head at her, Dirk ordered the hungry man’s breakfast and two servings of pancakes, along with a coffee for himself and apple juice for the boys.

When the food arrived, the steam still rising from the plates, an appalled Marissa felt her stomach gurgle. The odors wafting across the table smelled
divine.

T
he saliva in her mouth pooled as Dirk dug into the three poached eggs, crisp pieces of bacon, browned sausages, golden home fries and buttered toast. As for the boys, she eyed their pancakes lathered in butter and syrup, a sweet treat that she longed to grab and stuff in her own mouth.

Oh my
God, what’s happening to me? I don’t want this food. It’s bad for me. So why can’t I stop imagining how it would taste?

Dirk must have seen the longing on her face
because he held out his fork with a nicely browned home fry. “Try it,” he urged.

Automatically,
Marissa shook her head. He waved the fork with the tempting morsel closer. “Come on, princess, live a little. Open up.”

Against her will, Marissa found her lips parting, an invitation Dirk did not waste, popping the crunchy, flavorful potato in her mouth. Marissa chewed, her eyes half closed in pleasure. Cooked to perfection in butter and some herbs, the little tidbit he fed her made her taste buds explode
, and she opened her eyes and stared hungrily at his plate.

This time he offered her a piece of bacon
, which she grasped between two fingers. She crunched this forbidden delight and even licked her fingers at the end.

Dirk kept feeding her
, and Marissa kept opening her mouth until the boys broke the spell.

“Why are feeding Mari like a baby
, Daddy?” asked Avery.

A
blush heated her cheeks and clamped her lips shut. She leaned back on the bench. Caught sinning. But surprisingly enough, she felt no regret, only an urge for more.

Dirk wisely said nothing, simply signaling the waitress and paying for their meal before ushering them back out to the car.

Once they’d gotten back on the highway, Marissa couldn’t contain her curiosity anymore. “Are you going to tell me where we’re headed now?”

His masculine chuckle, as usual, didn’t fail to make her tingle.
“Now that we’ve gotten away from civilization, I think I can safely do so. We’re going to my mom’s.”

Marissa took a moment to digest this then punched him on the arm, hard. “Are you completely out of your mind?” she hissed.

“What? You needed to get away while this person who’s stalking you cools off, and the boys need to visit Grandma, so why not?”

“You can’t take me to your mom’s.”

He shot her questioning look. “Why not?”

She threw a furtive look at the boys watching their video in the back then leaned in to whisper. “Because you don’t bring your fuck friends to meet
your mom, that’s why.”

As
Dirk’s face darkened at her words, Marissa wondered, with a touch of misery, if he had just caught on to the faux pas he was making.
Funny, though, if we were actually dating and really together as a couple, I’d be ecstatic about going to meet his mom.
Because it would mean he was serious about her.

But they weren’t a couple
, and this was such a bad idea.

Dirk didn’t like the way she kept referring to them as fuck friends. Sure
, he’d thrown that at her when he’d tried to keep her from freaking out, but surely she realized by now that what they shared was something more. Heck, he kept telling her, so why did she keep refusing to see? Did she only see him as good lay? Didn’t she want something more?

She seemed to really like the boys and
, he dared hope, even him. Even her nickname of “redneck” for him seemed to come out affectionately now instead of as an insult. Glancing sideways at her, he noted her icy demeanor as she stared out the window, only a slight tic in her cheek betraying her agitation.

Surely
, the ice princess wasn’t that bothered by the idea of meeting his mom? Didn’t she understand what an honor he paid? He didn’t just bring anybody home with him.

Well
, it’s not as if you told her that
, reminded his conscience. But she should know him better than that by now. Dirk thought about telling her but decided to let her realize it for herself. Part of her problem resided with trust. She needed to learn to trust him. He could say whatever he wanted to her; until she began to believe him, his words would be meaningless. Actions spoke louder than words, so he intended to show her how he felt. Bringing her home to meet his family and protect her would act as the first step.

He just hoped she didn’t bolt when she met them all.

*

They pulled up in front of a large farmhouse with peeling paint and a huge wraparound porch. Marissa
exited the car slowly and looked around.
Welcome to the country
, she thought, seeing the vast fields all around and, yes, in the distance, even cows. Behind the house, to the right, stood a large, weather-beaten barn and various other outbuildings.

Marissa
planted her hands on her hips and turned to face Dirk, who, of course, grinned like a buffoon.

“You brought me to a farm?” she almost screeched.

“Yeah, it’s where my parents live.”

“But I’m a city girl. I don’t do the outdoors and animals and this,” she said
, sweeping her arm out to encompass the land surrounding them.

“No one said you had to milk the cows
—yet.” He laughed when she mouthed a dirty word at him so the kids wouldn’t hear.

The boys got
out of the car whooping and ran up the steps into the house.

“Come on
, princess,” said Dirk. He came around his vehicle and tried to put an arm around her, one she shrugged off to glare at him. “Think of it as an adventure.”

“Great, I leave a psycho stalker so I can probably get killed by a stampeding cow or rabid chicken.”

Dirk howled and thus missed the woman coming out the house who looked at Marissa with curiosity as she wiped her hands on a stained apron.

“Diedrik
, baby. Come give your mama a hug!” said the red-cheeked woman, holding out her arms.

Marissa almost giggled. So Dirk was short for Diedrik, a Swedish name
, if she recalled correctly.

Despite his wince at the revelation of his name,
Dirk went to the woman and hugged her soundly. “Hi, Ma. Thanks for letting us come for a visit. The boys have missed you.”

“Och, the boys
don’t miss their nana. They just miss my cookies. Who is this you’ve brought with you?”

“Ma, I’d like you to meet Marissa Masters
. Marissa, this is my mother, Ana White.”

“A pleasure to meet you
, Mrs. White,” said Marissa politely.

“
Don’t call me Mrs. Call me Ma like everyone else around here, or if you don’t feel comfy with that, Ana. Now come on in, I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on and cookies in the oven. Pa will be home just before supper, and then we’ll have ourselves a nice family dinner.”

Marissa would have bolted if she could
—
help, I’m trapped in a bizarre alternate world where the Waltons are alive and well
. Dirk, sensing her hesitance, grasped her hand and tugged her after him. Marissa went along begrudgingly. Somehow, being dragged didn’t seem very dignified.

How could she escape this unfolding disaster?

*

Dirk could see Marissa retreating behind her icy
façade—her method of coping, he’d noted, for situations that made her ill at ease. His mom’s house would probably give Marissa nightmares. While a wonderful cook, his mom had little time for things like dusting because as she said, “Why bother, it just comes back.” She also liked to collect knickknacks with no rhyme or reason, and these items were scattered around the house haphazardly, a disorganized chaos that would either make Marissa less neurotic—or send her to the loony bin.

In hindsight,
Dirk now wondered if he’d made the right decision in bringing her here. Their relationship—and dammit, it was a relationship no matter what she called it—was still so new. Her un-thawing incomplete. Would he undo all the work he’d accomplished?

He ushered her into his family home, holding back a wince seeing the peeling wallpaper and scratched wood floors. He loved this place. He’d grown up here along with his brothers and sister. To him every rip, scratch
, and dent had a story. But how would Marissa see it? It pissed him off to realize his family home and its shabbiness embarrassed him. He had nothing to be ashamed about. So the place wasn’t a showpiece; it had love and character and, best of all, warm memories. Until he’d screwed up and broke his mother’s heart.

This wasn’t the time to remember the past
, though. He’d turned over a new leaf. The house that he’d not appreciated in his youth now seemed a veritable castle to him, built on love, hard work, and second chances.

And if Marissa was too stuck up to understand and appreciate it
, well, then he’d just have to make her see it.

*

Marissa walked gingerly, the old wood porch creaking under her feet.
Please don’t collapse now
, she prayed. She could see Dirk’s jaw tighten, his face blank as if lost in thought, not a pleasant one judging by the hard gleam in his eye. With his hand on the small of her back, she entered his childhood home and stopped.

Chaos, utter, disordered chaos.
Yet even in the midst of the disaster, Marissa didn’t panic, for oddly enough there was a comforting feel to the mess. Like Dirk’s home, this place screamed lived in, but at the same time, it managed to convey family. No, not just family—love. From the pictures of kids ranging in age from baby to adult to the plaques commemorating achievements to faded artwork brought home from school, this home presented itself like a scrapbook of a family.

W
hile feeling out of her depth, Marissa, at the same time, found herself fascinated as she shuffled from picture to picture, easily recognizing Dirk—with hair—in many of the portraits.

Here he sat with a mischievous smile in a plaid blazer and slicked
-back hair for a school photo. There he ran, football in hand, dog chasing after him. She followed this timeline that jumped back and forth, intrigued. A voice at her elbow startled her.

“My Diedrik, such a good athlete he was. Always
a big boy like his father.”

“How many children do you have? Dirk’s never said.”

“I have three boys and one girl. You’ll meet them all since Diedrik says you’ll be staying until at least the weekend. Come, I have made you and Diedrik a room. I will show it to you.”

“What? Oh
, no,” said Marissa, blushing. “We won’t be sharing a room. We’re just friends. It wouldn’t be right.”

Ana’s lips
quirked, and her eyes twinkled. “Friends? Very well, then I will put you instead in my daughter’s old room. The boys can bunk with Diedrik. Give me a moment, and I will switch things around,” Ana said before hurrying up the stairs.

Hot breath
whispered in her ear. “What did you do that for?”

Marissa
tilted to peek back and arched a brow at him. “It wouldn’t have been right. This is your parents’ house. We can’t just—just—”

“Fuck like bunnies? Do the wild thing?”

The punch to his arm? Totally deserved. Marissa glared. “You are such a pig.”

“Hey, I tried to call it lovemaking
, and you got mad. So I’m going to keep trying out words until you finally find one you like, princess.” He pinched her ass before striding up the hall, a smug smile on his face.

“Dirk,” Marissa screeched to his retreating backside
—a very nice backside—but he ignored her and went through a swinging door to another room in the house. Alone, Marissa weighed her options. The front door was right behind her, she could escape and… Do what? Run for the hills? Hotwire his car? Hope the hills didn’t have eyes?

Since she couldn’t
beat him—yet—the only option left involved joining him. Sighing, she followed him, and Marissa found herself in a huge kitchen where the smells of a roast rubbed in garlic wafted. She also found the boys munching on cookies. Dirk helped himself to a couple from a chipped jar and waved some at her.

“Want one?” he mumbled through a mouthful. “Homemade.”

Delicious at they looked, Marissa declined and, instead, wandered over to the large window that looked over the backyard. A colorful panorama greeted her, the bright blooms of a chaotic flower garden meshed with the more practical greens of a vegetable garden. Crushed stone paths meandered through the jungle, bordered by fruit trees heavy with plump treats like apples, pears, cherries, and even yellow plums.

“Does your mom grow all her produce?” she asked
, turning, only to find herself staring at Dirk’s black-T-shirted chest, a chest she suddenly longed to run her hands across.

“Yup.
She cans the excess for the winter. She makes the best strawberry jam you’ve ever tasted.”

Looking up at Dirk’s face, soft with remembrance, Marissa thought the jam wasn’t the only tasty thing his mother had ever made.

Grabbing her by the hand, Dirk dragged her to a door that led outside. “Come on, I want to show you my hideout.” A scrabbling of chairs signaled the boys joining them. They ran past Dirk and Marissa into the jungle garden, whooping and hollering, a noise that no longer seemed as catastrophic to her senses.

Dirk held her hand as they walked through the garden and past the bordering trees into an apple orchard. Gnarled limbs curled overhead while plump red fruit dangled
, waiting to be picked. The boys dashed in and out of the trees, an impromptu game of tag filled with the joy and energy of youth.

A
n old maple tree in the center of the orchard with a wide trunk was their destination. Nailed into its bark were wooden rungs, weathered with age but still solid judging by Dirk’s use of them to clamber up into the wide-spreading branches.

“Come on up,” she heard him say
, hidden above her in the foliage. Marissa eyed the tree dubiously and then peeked at her feet clad in sensible, brown suede loafers. The boys needed no extra encouragement and climbed up, even little Mason, to her heart-stopping shock.

The three boys called to her. “Come on
, Mari. You can do it.”

Of course she could. Question was
, did she want to?

Step out of your comfort zone. Take a chance.
Taking a deep breath and rising to their challenge—and encouragement—Marissa grabbed a rung and began to climb. She worried about falling, the rungs suddenly collapsing, but in no time she’d made it, emerging through a hole in a plank floor to find herself in a tree fort. She couldn’t help but smile.
I climbed a tree.
And for some reason, it felt like an achievement. The smile Dirk tossed her way and the ‘whoops’ of the boys didn’t hurt either.

Marissa turned around in the larger than expected space. The fort had weathered wooden plank walls and a peaked roof tall enough to allow her to stand. Little porthole windows covered in
Plexiglas looked out into the tree itself, and all over the walls old and new posters of superheroes, girls in bikinis, and cars added a spot of color. A true kids’ paradise.

The boys peered out of the makeshift windows while Dirk grinned. “
What do you think of my hideaway?”

“I’d say it suits you. I’m surprised you don’t have one at your new place yet.”

“No trees big enough. But don’t worry. I’ll think of something. All boys need a secret hideout.”

“To hide from what?” she asked
, curious.

“Mothers wielding wooden spoons
, for one,” he said wryly, rubbing his posterior.

Marissa couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of her.

“That’s better,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d laugh again. You should do it more often. It suits you.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks
in what was becoming an annoying habit around him.