The Blind Date by Landish, Lauren (suggested reading .txt) 📕

He’d literally forced us to sell the farm when he died with his bad gambling debts, and we’d lucked out that our neighbors, the Bennetts, had wanted the land and had taken our motley crew on as ranch hands and pseudo-family.

The last seven months have been interesting, to say the least, but we’re all settled into our roles for the most part. I’ve even seen Brody smile a time or two, and that’s like winning the Mega Powerball Lotto for billions on a random, computer-drawn list of numbers . . . twice in two weeks. In other words, it doesn’t happen. Ever.

But it did. I saw it with my own eyes, so maybe I’ll pick up a dollar scratch-off while I’m in town and see if my odds are any better than usual. I snort at my own ridiculousness and Shay looks at me questioningly.

“Would you like to share with the class what’s got you giggling?”

For the record, I don’t giggle. Or chuckle. Or laugh. I smile on occasion, but it damn near cracks my face from lack of use. Well, maybe it’s from turning that frown upside down. Hell, maybe Brody’s smiled more than me lately. I’ll have to consider that later.

“I’m fine, Shay, “ I tell her, not answering her question in the slightest, but she lets me put her off. “Need to get going if I’m gonna get back by dinner. What’re you and Mama Louise making? Maybe I should just grab a bite at Hank’s instead?”

She stomps her booted foot. “You’d better not, Bruce Tannen. Family dinner tonight, no excuses.” She purses her lips before tucking the bottom one behind her white teeth. “We’ve got some special news. You’ll be there, right?”

I side-eye my little sister, dropping the not-that-heavy jugs onto my tailgate with a boom as if they weigh a ton. Her hair looks the same as always, brown with some streaks of blonde the sun puts there every summer. Her face is bare with a smattering of freckles across her nose and a bit too much sun on her cheeks from being outside every day. Her frayed shorts and watermelon-stained tank top are her usual work gear, and her boots are dusty and worn.

Nothing’s out of place and nothing’s unusual except for that glint in her eye.

“Are you fucking pregnant, Shayanne?” I grit out. I’m gonna kill Luke Bennett for sticking his dick in my sister. I mean, I know he does, and as much as it guts me, I guess she likes it, because she loves him and shit, but I don’t need proof of their fucking walking around and calling me ‘Uncle Bruce’. Or would a little Luke-Anne call me ‘Uncle Brutal’?

Shit. Neither. Fucking neither is the correct answer.

Like the firecracker she is, Shay doesn’t answer the damn question for two long seconds during which I figure out which field of dirt I can bury Luke’s body in.

Not soon enough, she breaks and laughter rings out. Well, more like donkey guffaws because there ain’t a thing prissy about my sister. But through the hee-haws, I gather that she’s laughing at me.

“Oh, my cheesus and crackers, you should’a seen your face, Bruce! Priceless! Shoot, I wish I’d gotten a picture of that!”

I push closer to her, looming over her like only a threatening big brother can, but she’s not the least bit scared of me. Probably the only person who isn’t in this whole town.

“Shayanne Tannen, are you or are you not pregnant?”

She holds her hand up, admiring the way the sunlight catches her ring. “That’s Shayanne Bennett, and you know it. You were there when Luke and I said our vows about loving and honoring and cherishing and obeying each other. Oh, yeah, especially that last one. You know I love when he tells me what to do.”

She’s being ornery and we both know it. There ain’t a soul on this planet who tells my sister what to do. Hell, Luke’s probably tried a time or two . . . again, not thinking of him railing my sister . . . and she’d probably still do whatever the fuck she wanted. I grind my teeth together, not sure if I want to strangle her neck or protect another generation of Tannens if she’s got one in her belly.

“Shay,” I say dangerously low and quiet. It’s my line, letting her know that I’ve had enough.

“Fine, fine. No, party pooper. I’m not pregnant, though that honeymoon was something else. Some. Thing. Else. Whoo, boy. I didn’t know reverse cowgirl was so much fun. Why didn’t you tell me, big brother?”

I can’t headbutt my truck, so I skip the words I can’t handle and go for the important one. “You’re not pregnant? Then what’s the big news?” I say. Or growl. Same difference, mostly.

She boops me on the nose with zero fear for her own life, the only person on Earth who can do that. “Guess you’ll have to show back up to find out.”

And like that was an answer at all, she spins on her heel and skips, literally skips, back to the house, leaving me feeling like I just ran a marathon when all I did was walk from the kitchen to the driveway.

On second thought, good for Luke. If he can handle all that, good for him. Less for me and my brothers to have to deal with. I try to convince myself that’s true and remind myself that I like Luke, that I was the one who knew Shay was sneaking out to go meet him long before anyone else did and even helped her cover her late-night proclivities. It works, a little bit.

I take two more trips back and forth from the kitchen to the truck, stepping over Murphy and listening to Shayanne and Mama Louise chattering away, though about what I have no idea, and for now, I don’t care.

That’s unlike me. I’m usually the silent sleeper who people somehow forget about, even though I’m the size of a barn and I listen intently to just about everything