Just then, one of the green-vested store employees walks up and pats Doc on the back. “Hiya, Doc,” the cute redhead greets him with a flirtatious smile. “You stocking up for all those cowboys and cowgirls taking over your park this week?”
“You know it, Della doll. Should be able to hear the country music plumb to the state line later tonight,” he laughs.
“Anything I can help you find?” she asks, batting her lashes. “Not that you don’t know the store like the back of your hand.”
He shakes his head and points to where Farrah, Fiona, and I are standing, blatantly listening to their conversation. “Nah, I’m just about finished, but I was helping these fine young ladies here select a tent, and I think I might be helping them set up a site in the park for the night.”
“Oh.” Della glances over at us like she hadn’t noticed our presence before that moment, and does a poor job of hiding her sneer with a fake smile. “How nice. Can I help y’all with anything?”
Farrah abruptly strides forward and rests her hand on Doc’s bicep, plastering on her own bitchy smile. “Nope, Doc’s got us all taken care of, so we’re good here. You can run along and organize the squirrel food.”
I want so badly to burst out laughing at my sister and her damn squirrel food comment, but I manage to hold it in, and instead nod to back her up. Della searches Doc’s eyes for some sort of support, but he simply smiles like he’s completely oblivious of the female pissing contest going on in front of him.
“Yep, I’ll get them all squared away,” he tells her casually. “I’ll see ya next week, Dells.”
The poor, crestfallen girl scurries away and Doc returns his full attention to us, the happy-go-lucky expression holding steady on his face. “So you wanna stay out by the lodge? I don’t mind helping at all.”
“Yes!” Farrah answers quickly.
He lets out another burly chuckle as he pats her hand that’s still gripping his upper arm. “Okay, beautiful. What else do we need to get here?”
“Everything,” I pipe up, while reaching for the box holding the Big Agnes tent and placing it in our empty shopping cart. “Price isn’t an issue. Just show us what we need so we can get set up before it gets too late. We still haven’t eaten dinner.”
“I want to cook dinner over the fire!” Fiona exclaims, swinging the umbrella in the air. “You should stay and eat with us, Doc. I’m the best child chef on this side of the Mississippi. As soon as I’m eight, I’m gonna be the next Masterchef Jr. Champion.”
He grins down at her. “You ever cook bison, little bit? I think I’ve got some thawed in my fridge at the lodge.”
“No, but I bet I can make it the yummiest you ever had,” she confidently boasts.
“You got yourself a deal, but first, we need to stock up on supplies. I think you and I should be the decision makers. What do you say?” he proposes with a wink, holding his hand out for her to take.
Without a second of hesitation, she laces her little fingers with his and nods. “But don’t forget the stuff to make s’mores. It’s not camping if there’s no s’mores.”
Finley
“I HAVE TO pee in the woods?” Farrah screeches, her eyes darting around wildly from Doc to me to Fiona and then back to Doc.
He fails epically at hiding his amusement. “Well yes, beautiful,” he chuckles, while filling a lantern with kerosene. “You’re camping. Where did you think you would be peeing?”
“I don’t know,” she throws her arms up in the air, “a portal potty or something. I mean, those are bad enough… but behind a tree? This is beyond ridonkulous.”
I watch the exchange, snickering quietly, while stacking the branches and limbs for the fire. I can’t wait to see how this ends. My guess is Doc will be driving her back to the lodge before too long. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s definitely some kind of connection between the two of them, as opposite as they may seem.
When we parked the Camaro up at his lodge and piled into his Jeep so he could bring us out to this clearing by a small manmade lake, she made sure she was sitting next to him, their thighs pressed together as the four of us squeezed onto one bench seat. And then as we unloaded all of the supplies from the all-terrain SUV, he stayed close to her the entire time, only giving her light loads to carry and helping her balance on the uneven ground in her ridiculous wedge sandals.
So far, Doc has proven to be a godsend. Without him, I don’t know what we would’ve done or where we’d be spending the night. From lending a hand with selecting all the necessary gear at the store, to finding us a good place to set up camp, to pitching the tent for us, which was much more difficult than I could’ve ever imagined, he’s been patient and positive the entire time. A true gentleman.
“If it’s a problem, if you’re mountain biking or something, I can take you up to the cabin,” he offers, his tone tender.
“Mountain biking? What in the hell are you talking about?” Farrah continues with the loud, annoying shriek.
The small amount of his face not covered with dark hair turns a bright pink, visible even in the low light of dusk. “You know,” he fixes his embarrassed stare on the lantern in his hands, refusing to look at her, as he mumbles, “your time of the month… when you’re cycling. My sisters and mom always called it mountain biking in my house when I was growing up.”
That’s it. I can’t contain it anymore. My cackle echoes loudly through the tall trees as I fall to my knees and hold my stomach, rolling in the dirt and not caring even a tiny little bit. I’m mentally exhausted and physically beat, and Doc’s mountain biking comment may have sent me over the edge of temporary insanity.
“No, I’m not mountain biking!” I hear Farrah grumble through my incessant laughter. “I just don’t want to wipe my ass with a leaf, thank you very much.”
Fiona only adds to the hilarity when she joins the conversation. “Don’t use a leaf, Mummy. There may be bugs on it. Just shake your arse around like when you do that dance you always do.”
Peering up at my sister, I watch as her face turns the same shade of crimson that Doc’s is while Fiona gets up from the food she’s prepping and attempts to reenact some move that looks more like she’s having a seizure than dancing. Another fit of giggles hits hard.
“I am not twerking the pee off my hoo-ha-dilly in the middle of the forest! What is you people’s problem?” she huffs, propping her fists on her hips and glowering at all of us.
Doc finishes putting the lantern back together and shoves up to his feet. “Come on, beautiful,” he says, motioning for Farrah to follow him. “I’ll take you to the cabin this time, but later tonight, once I’m gone, you’re gonna have to figure something out. I suggest you bring a roll of toilet paper back, you little glamper you.”
She snarls one side of her nose, but stomps off behind him to the Jeep, maturely sticking her tongue out at me as she passes. “Watch out for the ankle buster in those shoes!” I call out, repeating the term Doc had used for the rocky path we’d followed from his vehicle down to the reservoir. “Though I’d much rather see you bust your twerking butt!”
“Remember I’m doing all this for you!” she retorts over her shoulder. “Careful, or I’ll tell Mr. Sexy Eyes about how you’ve named your expensive new vibrator after him.”
I gasp. “You wouldn’t!”
“You bet your great goobly woobly I will.”
IT’S A LITTLE after ten by the time Doc finally leaves us on our own, after two more bathroom trips to the cabin — one for Fiona, and the last one for all three of us before bed. Our bellies are full with some pretty damn delicious bison burgers and ooey-gooey s’mores as we lie down on the air mattresses inside the tent, the faint sounds of country music from the other side of the park wafting through the brisk night air. If I wasn’t so damn tired, I’d be irritated listening to the ridiculous song about a damn red Solo cup, but I just don’t have it in me to care.
“Goodnight, girls. We’ve got one more long day on the road tomorrow. Try and
get some rest,” I say with a yawn, pulling the new fleece blanket up over me and closing my eyes. “Thank y’all for doing this with me. I love you both.”
They both say goodnight and I love you before I surrender to the overwhelming pull to unconsciousness. It’s the last night Teague Goodman will only be in my dreams. Tomorrow, if all goes well, I will get to look into those sexy blue eyes for real once again.
“Psst… Finley. Psst… psst… Finley.” My eyes spring open, startled from the shaking of my body, to find Farrah’s nose inches from mine. “Are you asleep?”
I blink hard, giving my brain a second to jump from feeding a naked Teague grapes in bed — yes, it’s always the same damn dream, but the fruit always changes; I don’t question it — to my sister’s mascara-smeared face hovering directly over mine.
“I w-was,” I croak, then clear my voice and try again. “I was. Not now, what’s up?”
With brown eyes wide with panic, she whispers, “I heard something. Did you?”
Sitting up, I shake my head and look around the dark tent, lit only by the soft moonlight filtering through the vinyl sides. Fiona is sound asleep on her mattress, tucked into the mermaid sleeping bag Doc picked out for her. Nothing appears to be out of the ordinary, nor do I hear anything. Even the terrible honky-tonk crap is gone.
“Well, since I was still asleep, no, I didn’t hear anything,” I whisper back. “What did it sound like?”
Her shoulders lift in a half-shrug, as she’s too busy doing a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree inspection of the tent walls. “I don’t know. Leaves rustling, maybe some sticks moving around. But I definitely heard it.”
I lie back down, ready to get back to my dream. “It was probably just your imagination,” I tell her. “Go back to bed. You need rest to drive tomorrow.”
“It wasn’t my imagination,” she hisses. “I know I heard something.”
“Go to sleep, Farrah.”
She grumbles as her head lands on her pillow, but my eyes are already shut and I can see dimples in the distance. Then, I hear it. The noise. And it’s a lot damn louder than rustling leaves. It sounds like tree branches cracking, followed by a loud thud.
My heart skips a few beats before rapidly revving up to an out-of-control thump as I jackknife up on the flimsy mattress. Farrah follows suit, and Fiona isn’t far behind her.
“Mommy, what was that?” my niece asks groggily, rubbing her sleepy eyes, forgetting about her accent.
“I don’t know, peanut. Come here.” Farrah reaches for Fiona and scoops the young girl up tight in her lap.
“Okay, you were right,” I say lowly, on full alert for any approaching shadows. “It’s gotta be an animal of some kind.”
Farrah gulps. “What if it’s a bear? The one that tore up Doc’s tent? Oh, my God, I’m going to die before I ever got to wear those Valentino Rockstud pumps.”
“Shut up,” I whisper-shout. “It’s not a damn bear.”
The noise again. This time louder. Closer. My bladder quivers.
“Shit, I think it’s a bear,” I hiss, scooting closer to the two of them, like they’re gonna save me from a hungry, pissed-off grizzly bear. “What do we do? Just hope it goes away?”
Farrah slowly leans back, as if the predator outside can see what she’s doing, and grabs her cell phone from the top of her purse. “Doc gave me his number earlier, to call if we needed anything. We need something.”
Normally, I would stop her from such a brash reaction, but I’m scared shitless, and there’s no way any of us are going out of this tent until someone tells us it’s all clear on the other side. So I let her make the call.
“Doc, we need you. There’s a bear,” she whispers, without even saying hello or telling him who it is.
She pauses a second then hangs up the phone.
“That’s it?” I cry. “Did he even know who you were? What if he’s going to some other campsite? Why did you hang up?”
“He said, ‘I’ve been up waiting for the call, beautiful. On my way.’”
I giggle, despite the fact there’s a pillaging, slaying giant mammal lurking outside the tent. “Oh.”
A ghost of a smile drifts over her lips. “Yeah. Oh.”
Less than five minutes later, the deep, gruff voice of the sweet wilderness man rings out loud, and instinctively, I slump with relief, tears pricking the back of my eyes. “Girls, it’s me, Doc. I’m here, but I need ya to stay where you are,” he instructs, his voice soothing but serious. “I’m gonna take a gander to see if I see Ol’ Ephraim’s tracks.”
Ol’ Ephraim? Are he and the bear on a first-name basis? No wonder he and Farrah get along so well.
Leaves crunch under the weight of his boots as he walks around the camp until finally, he approaches the tent and unzips the door. Sticking his head inside, a smug smirk owning his expression, he motions for us to stand up and follow him out.
“All clear in the ring, ladies. Found some ‘coon prints, so I reckon it was just a little rascal looking for some leftovers.”
Farrah darts over to him and leaps into his arms, nearly knocking him backward on his butt. “Thank God you came, Doc. You’re my hero. I bet it was a raccoon with mouth-foaming scabies and it was going to bite me and I was going to die.”
Somehow managing to keep his balance, his arms enveloped around her waist, Doc laughs heartily as she kisses his cheek. “I think its rabies you’re talking about, beautiful, and I doubt he wanted to bite or kill you.”
He lowers her to her feet then turns to Fiona and gently tugs on her ponytail. “I bet he heard the best child chef on this side of the Mississippi was staying in his park and wanted to try out some of the good grub. Can’t say I blame him after those burgers.”
She beams, rewarding him with one of those heart-melting grins. “Mummy thought we were gonna bloody die, but I knew you’d save us, Doc.” And my baby Brit is back.
He shakes his head and picks her up to carry her up the path. “I planned on staying up all night, little bit, just in case you needed me. Now what do you say we move this camping adventure to my cabin for the rest of the night, so your mom and aunt can get a little sleep for your long drive tomorrow? Maybe you can teach me how to make flapjacks in the morning before you guys go. What do you say?”
Fiona wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes tightly. “I say let’s go before Ol’ Ephraim hears about my food.”
Teague
MY BACK HURTS, my legs ache, and my head is pounding like someone stuck an ice pick in each of my temples, but when I see Benjamin Smart’s name appear on my caller ID, all of that is forgotten. I’ve been waiting for this call ever since I read his email late last night stating he’d received a final offer from Linebetter on the Apex deal and would be calling to discuss it with me first thing today. And although it’s technically still morning on the West Coast, I would hardly consider nearly noon to be ‘first thing.’
“What do you got for me, Benjamin?” I answer gruffly, not bothering with any disingenuous pleasantries. “Just lay it out straight.”
I move away from the grain storage bins where the workers are all sitting around finishing up their lunch. The tight knot of anxiety and angst my gut has been tied in since I woke up tells me I’m not going to like what he has to say, and I don’t want any of them to overhear my reaction.
“Their final offer is for ownership and control of the app with a profit sharing split on outside advertisement income of 75/25, and they’re not budging on the $100 million figure over the five-year payout,” he blurts out the entire sentence in one breath.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me! 75/25 split of outside ads? That’s absurd,” I grumble. “I’m basically giving them access to millions and millions of customers, and who’s to say they won’t use up all the ad space themselves instead of selling it off? My share of that could be next to nothing.”
Without even realizing it, I begin my pacing, seven steps in each direction, but instead of my office floor getting the br
unt of my indignant footfalls, it’s the grass pathway leading out to the crops. Crops that may not be mine much longer.
Smart clears his throat, then says, “Teague, as your attorney, I have to recommend you take the deal. Like I told you when you were here, past cases point to you losing this if you try to fight it, and then you’ll not only be out the money and the app, but you’ll also incur a ton of legal fees, of which they may ask you to pay theirs too.”
My chest burns from the inside out with fury, mostly because I know he’s right. I have to take the fucking deal, as much as I hate to. It’s the only chance I have to keep Goodman Farms up and running—though it will be at a smaller scale than before.
“Okay, let’s do it,” I huff. “Draw up whatever paperwork is necessary, and I’ll sign it. I’m still staying out here at Grandpa’s for the time being, so it may take a little while for me to get it back to you.
“All right, it’ll probably take a while for us to get it all together anyway, so I’ll let you know when everything’s squared away. Have you thought about how you’re planning to make the first payment in March and adjust to the lack of the app income for current expenses?” he asks. What he means is have I thought about how I’m going to pay him now that the deal is all but complete.
Blowing out a defeated sigh, I run my free hand through my hair and shake my head. “Yeah, can you contact a local land real estate agent and see about selling off somewhere around half of the twenty thousand acres? It’ll be a significant downsizing and I’m going to have to cut staff everywhere, but at least we’ll be able to stay up and running.”
“Sure thing,” he answers eagerly. Probably just glad to hear I’ll be able to settle my bill with him soon. “I’ll see who I can find and give them the information and your contact info. And as soon as I get the papers in from Linebetter, I’ll let you know.”