The Rancher takes his Star Crossed Love Page 2

  "All of that is scientific nonsense."

  "You have no sense of imagination."

  "That's not imagination you’re describing. It’s a medical condition."

  Jules stood, aiming to get away from her sister and her logic. But she knew better. Once Romey did the math and came to a solution, she dug her heels in until everyone became convinced that hers was the right answer. Luckily, Hamlet was a hefty buffer between the sisters.

  "Marrying Paris is a good business decision," said Romey. “It was our parents that founded this commune.”

  "Marriage shouldn't be a business transaction."

  "That's exactly what it is. That's exactly how it developed. Disney movies changed all that with its princesses. That's why I prefer Pixar."

  Jules didn’t bother responding. Just because they were twins and shared the same looks that didn’t mean they shared the same brain. Jules was determined to find true love, just like in the storybooks. Just like her namesake. Only without the poison and suicide bit.

  Chapter Three

  The smells of the county fair were all around him. Growing up in the city, Porco had been to carnivals and amusement parks. He’d been jostled about through the frenzy of busy people rushing their children through the long waiting lines of rides. Or paying fees near the cost of entry to skip to the front of the lines. Only to come off the ride and hurry to make it to the next appointment of hectic diversion.

  A small town fair was a unique experience. There was rushing about. But only by the young who were hopped up on sugared candies and fizzy drinks. The adults strolled leisurely, conversing with one another, waving to friends, literally stopping to smell the roses as they checked out a florist’s booth.

  “There really is no such thing as love.”

  Porco pressed his lips together rather than to address Spinelli’s comment. Spinelli was the smartest guy he knew. The man could compute large equations in seconds without the use of a calculator, or even pen or paper. He could remember minute details and call them forth in the heat of a battle. He was handy with tools and anything mechanical bowed to his whim.

  But the man was hopeless when it came to anything to do with the fairer sex. In fact, Porco couldn’t remember a single time Spinelli had been out on a date.

  “What you’re feeling is simply a cocktail of adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin increasing in levels,” Spinelli went on. “It’s the same chemicals released on the battlefield.”

  “So, what you’re saying is love is a battlefield?”

  “No,” Spinelli answered, not even acknowledging the righteous use of the lyrics from Pat Benatar’s girl-power anthem. “I’m saying your fight or flight reaction is triggered. There are two choices in that scenario. Ever think you keep making the wrong one?”

  Yeah, that had to be why the guy hadn’t had a single date the whole time Porco had known him. When he’d met Spinelli, the guy was barely a hundred pounds wet. The heaviest thing on him had been his brain. All these years later, and the Rangers had added what Spinelli had in his IQ to his muscle mass.

  Stepping up to a booth that sold battered and fried bacon on a stick, Porco bought two. Spinelli waved the heaven-sent concoction off, as Porco knew the health-conscious man would. Which meant more for him.

  His waistline would not appreciate him even if his belly did. Now that he was out of the service, he didn't have to worry about things like weight. Though he doubted it would matter now that the camp was open and they were running drills every weekday and Saturday.

  “So, what?” Porco said, picking up the thread of their conversation. “You’ll never want to settle down with a woman, buy a house, have a family of your own?”

  “I do. But I’d go about both processes in the same way,” said Spinelli. “When you look for a home, it has to meet certain specifications; a certain square footage, the right amenities, cost.”

  “You’d pick the woman you’ll marry based on a property report and home inspection?”

  Spinelli shrugged. “Isn’t that essentially what online dating is? Far more logical than relying on a spike in blood flow.”

  “I can’t wait until love smacks you dead in the face.”

  “You’ll be waiting forever since the concept doesn’t have hands. And you’re missing the point; you don’t love Rosalind.”

  Didn’t he? Porco was no longer sure. He knew he’d felt something with her. Otherwise, he’d be able to get her out of his mind easily. Since he couldn’t, he owed it to himself to be sure. He just needed to find her first.

  Porco finished off the second skewer of bacon, licking his chops. All along the main street of the fair were more booths touting deep-fried concoctions. Maple bacon donuts. Waffle fried bacon. Bacon stuffed burgers. He’d definitely have to come back and try the chocolate-covered bacon.

  But first, he had important business to attend to. He set his feet toward the other end of the park, where he knew Rosalind would be.

  He didn't miss the giggles and stares of some women. He sidestepped a few who frowned. Those frowners were girls he'd danced with for a night or dated for a weekend when he first got here. He hadn't felt a spark with Bonnie Jones or Crystal Bates. He didn't believe in keeping a woman hanging when there was no fire between them. He was decent like that.

  Up ahead, Porco caught sight of the woman whom he still held a torch for. At least he thought it was a torch. He definitely felt something warm lick up his spine. But he couldn’t gauge the temperature from this distance. He needed to get closer.

  From this distance, he could see that Rosalind was dressed in her customary plaid shirt with a bit of lace on the collar. Cowgirl chic. She wore a Stetson as usual, so Porco could see her shining blue eyes. Or wait? Were they gray? He couldn’t remember.

  He could see her long blonde hair. Though the strands hung a bit limp in the midday sun. She was smiling, but the expression didn't quite reach her eyes. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember her smile ever being wider than what he saw now.

  "David."

  Uh oh. Things weren't good when any of his fellow soldiers called him by his first name. It was much like when his mother said his first and middle name through gritted teeth.

  Porco turned to glare at Spinelli. The man looked as though he’d been talking for a while. But Porco’s attention had been otherwise occupied.

  “I’m just trying to help,“ said Spinelli.

  “By keeping me from the woman who might be The One.”

  Spinelli let his head roll around his neck, the tendons popping along the journey. “You realize the two of you have nothing in common.”

  “You realize opposites attract. Isn’t that a scientific fact?”

  “For magnets. But if one flips around, they repel one another.”

  “I don’t see your point?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Spinelli rolled his neck the other way. Fewer tendons popped this time. At the end of the journey, his head hung low. He raised his hand in a magnanimous gesture and flicked his fingers. “Go on. You’ll lose interest by the weekend. There’s a bet on it. I have my money on tomorrow morning.”

  “Some friend you are.” Porco turned on his heel and stormed away.

  “That would be your best one you’ve got,” Spinelli called after him.

  Porco made up the ground between him and his target quickly. Spinelli was wrong. He and Rosalind were like magnets. He could feel a gravitational pull towards this woman.

  Though he was drawn to her, the object of his desire wasn’t looking at him. Rosalind was smiling still. Her smile stretched a bit higher this time. Porco wanted to know why? Who had made her smile this big? His glance slid over to Rosalind's companion, and his heart stopped.

  It had been a sunny day, but the star shifted. The rays moved across the sky to shine down on the single bright spot before him. Everyone around her was cast in shadows in Porco’s eyes.

  The noisy fairgrounds quieted to a hum in his ears. Overhead, he heard birds chirping the sweetest melody as though they were playing a chorus to make way for her appearance on life’s stage.

  Standing across from the woman Porco thought he’d fallen for was the woman he knew had captured his heart.

  She wore a sundress in a riot of rainbow colors. Her skin was a light golden brown, like the battered fried bacon skewers he’d just wolfed down. He'd bet she’d taste as sweet as the honeyed ham. He was determined to find out because one word kept playing in his head over and over again.

  Mine.

  Chapter Four

  “That natural pomade has done wonders for my hair.” Rosalind Carr ran her polished nails through her long, silky hair.

  Jules smiled and nodded at Rosalind’s words. Her blonde tresses did look much healthier than the first time Jules had met her a few months back at the weekly farmer’s market. Back then, the rodeo queen’s ends had been split and ragged from all the time spent under hairdryers and the exposure to harsh chemicals and dyes to keep her looking like a natural blonde.

  “It’s never been this healthy and fine,” Rosalind beamed down at her hair, as though she were talking to the strands. “I swear it’s grown at least three inches in the last two months.”

  “That would be the aloe vera plant giving you the moisture,” said Jules. “The nettles and rosemary promote growth.”

  They grew each of the herbs in the southern part of the commune. The soil there was more gritty, which suited the Mediterranean plants best. Harmony Sunshine, Verona’s resident herbalist, took pride in getting the most exotic specimens to thrive in the midwest.

  “That River Sunshine is a genius,” said Rosalind. “Is he here today? I’d love to get my hands on some more.”

  “River is no longer a he, remember? She transitioned earlier this year and c
hanged her name to Harmony.”

  It had been a beautiful rebirthing ceremony out at the stream that ran through the northern part of their property. Harmony’s mother, a poet laureate, performed a heartfelt spoken-word piece about letting the waters in her son’s heart reverse course, and now her daughter lived in harmony. Jules choked up just thinking about it.

  “Oh, I don’t care if he’s gay,” Rosalind insisted. She pressed her hand to her heart and spread her fingers wide over her chest as though she was showing that the organ was open. “It’s very progressive of him. I mean her? Of them?”

  Jules knew that the way she’d grown up was a strong pill for many in this community to follow. In a land of cattle and hog ranches, those who lived on Verona abhorred the thought of slaughter for food or clothes. In a town where the churches were packed every Sunday, the open fields on the commune held shrines to every god, goddess, and pagan saint known to mankind -because they didn’t want to leave any deity out.

  Many of the townsfolk frowned at their ways. No one had ever raised a fist or a foul word. Well, except the Vances and the Montgomerys. Outside of that ongoing feud, the people of the town had tried often to welcome the residents of the commune, albeit in their awkward, see-look-I’m-openminded-just-don’t-go-too-far, kinda way.

  “Harmony isn’t here today, but we do have some of her products out at our booth.”

  Rosalind’s eyes lit up. She looked up, turning her head in the direction of the Verona booth where they’d laid out a store of fresh produce. If she walked over there, Rosalind would find the homemade hair products she coveted, along with hand-fashioned jewelry, scarves, hats, and other articles of clothing crocheted or knitted from natural fibers, and organic fruits and vegetables.

  Jules just hoped Rosalind didn’t ask her to accompany her back there. She’d driven with Paris to the fair. For the first time in their lives, there had been an awkward silence between the two of them. They’d both tried to fill that silence with familiar topics like the progress of her soybeans, the upcoming commune community meeting which was always lively with debate, the impending visit from the USDA inspector over the organic seal of approval for their produce.

  They’d exchanged only a few sentences. The weight of the words unsaid was heavy in the cab of his fuel-efficient hybrid truck. The tension prickled across her skin, causing her to shiver in discomfort. The tense silence had given Jules a moment to study her longtime friend, who wanted to be her lifelong mate.

  Paris Montgomery was handsome. He had a strong chin and high cheekbones that could belong to a model. Though he was never one to go in front of a camera. His body was lean from his plant-based diet, and muscular from his work in the fields each day.

  He was a quiet man, had been so ever since they were children. A gentler soul than his fiery father who had been a professional protestor in his youth, Paris preferred plants to people. Jules was much the same. It wouldn't be all bad if she chose to marry him.

  Something squeezed in her heart, like the valves of the organ were wringing its hands with worry and anxiety. Perhaps that was why she’d shot out of the passenger seat as soon as he’d parked. Maybe that was why she’d walked away from the booth and made herself scarce for the last hour.

  “Oh, no. Not him.”

  The words hadn’t come from Jules's distressed heart. They’d come from Rosalind. The light of excitement over hair care had faded from Rosalind’s gaze. Her perfectly plucked brow was now pinched in annoyance.

  Had Paris come up to them? Had he come in search of Jules, ready to break his silence? Was he now standing behind Jules? What if he was down on one knee?

  There were prickles all over her skin. But these weren’t the prickles from before. They weren’t uncomfortable pinches. They felt like sparklers dancing up her forearms, sliding across her shoulder blades, and racing down her back.

  Jules’s heart gave a mighty kick to the front of her chest, as though calling all her organs to attention. Every part of her was on high alert. Her ears rang clear. Her ten fingers felt a tingle. The soles of her feet were grounded where she stood.

  Another mighty kick of her heart. This time she knew that something urged her to turn around. It wasn't a fight or flight sense of urgency. Jules couldn't quite put her finger on what the sensation was. She just knew that she had to turn if she wanted to live.

  And so, she did.

  First, her head. Her gaze pushed her peripheral vision to its max, trying to get a closer look at what was to come. It was only a glimpse, but she saw the next chapter of her life unfolding as her head, then her shoulders, then her entire body came around.

  The man standing over her blocked out the sun, but Jules had never felt so hot in her life. His gaze bored into her, as though it saw directly into her soul. She felt bare and confused at the same time as she felt completely cloaked and understood.

  There were no sparks when the man smiled. No, there was an explosion in that devilish grin. A raging fire ignited as everything in Jules shouted two words; this one.

  Chapter Five

  The first thing Porco had learned to do in Basic Training was to march. Forward March was the command given when standing at a halt. They had been taught to pick up their left foot, taking one step measuring from the heel to the toe. The right arm should coordinate in a swing. Arms straight but not stiff. Hands cupped, thumbs pointing down. A coordinated effort with each soldier moving in unison.

  Porco lifted his right foot. His right arm swung at the same time, making his body appear as though it lurched forward, casting him off balance. Each of his fingers stretched out, wanting, needing to grab hold of her.

  With a few more strides forward, his limbs fell into synchronized motion. Left, right, then left. Porco marched towards his glory.

  He was drawn by her hazel eyes. Even from this distance, he saw that there were gold flecks at the edges of her pupils. Their sparkle rivaled that of the sun. Her lips were the perfect shape of a heart, lush and round. He doubted that there was any gloss from a tube coating the flesh there. It had to be her natural coloring. Between her lips and her eyes, her cheeks were flecked with freckles. Not the pale pink he'd seen on other women's skin. The collection of dots was mocha swirls on her caramel skin. Porco had the urge to lean down and sip at the sprinkles.

  To get to her cheeks, he’d have to brush away the thick strands of her hair that partially hid her face from view. Much of her hair was coiled up atop her head, but in the back, the dark ropes rioted and fell down her back, reaching the base of her spine. The locks of hair were threaded through like the crochet work he'd seen his grandma make.

  Dreadlocks, the style was called. There was nothing dreadful about the way they looked. Porco ached to reach his hand out and test their texture. He wanted to know if they were as silky as they appeared to be.

  "Yes, David? Is there something I can help you with?"

  Porco’s mouth had been agape as he’d taken in the sight of this angel on earth. His lips flattened at the wince at the sound of that voice. He’d expected his angel’s voice to shimmer like stardust. Not grind like the gears of a vehicle when downshifted.

  Aside from the tenor of her voice was its tone. There was annoyance there, tinged with exasperation.

  She was mad at him? But she hadn't even met him yet. And how did she know his name?

  Gazing down at her, Porco realized her lips hadn't moved. It was not her voice that had spoken. It was Rosalind. Porco had completely forgotten the other woman was there.

  Rosalind shifted, placing her body between Porco's and the woman who had captured his entire attention. With her move, Rosalind also blocked out the sun, casting a shadow on the portion of his dream girl that Porco could still see.

  The object of his desire was still gazing back at him beneath hooded lids. Was she shy? Even if she was, Porco saw interest in those sparkling eyes. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but the English language eluded him.

  What did one say to an angel?

  "I hope you haven't come here to cause a scene," Rosalind was saying.