Caisey Quinn - Storm Warning

“What’s so funny, Old Timer?”

“You think you’re really something, don’t you, boy? I bet you think Millie Mason was eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Actually he didn’t. He saw that look, that don’t-bullshit-a-bullshitter look she was pinning him with. Like he was amusing to her somehow. He huffed out a breath but said nothing.

“Can’t wait for you to see little Ella Jane again. I’d pay money to see her face on Monday.”

Again? “What do you mean, again?”

His granddad glanced at him as he backed the truck out of the dirt driveway. “You don’t remember? Naw, I don’t guess you would.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Pops.” Under his breath he added, “Probably time to up your dosage.”

His granddad put on the brakes hard enough to make his body jolt forward. He barely stopped himself from cursing out loud.

“You used to think I was something. Used to beg your daddy to let you go places with me.” The sad smile on the old man’s face sent a sharp pain through Hayden’s gut.

He vaguely remembered the summers he’d spent with his granddad in hillbilly hell…except it hadn’t seemed so bad back then. But now, trying to remember anything specific about it was like grasping at the vapors of a dream after waking up too soon.

His granddad continued. “You came over here with me to pick up mulch on Saturdays, and one time—you musta been around six or seven—you tripped over the shoelaces I’d just told you to tie. I’d no sooner got the words outta my mouth when you went ass over head. Skinned your knee pretty good. You squealed like a wounded heifer and Ella Jane ran out of the house like it had caught fire. She nursed you back to health with a washrag and a pink band-aid with a cat or something on it.” His granddad’s jowls shook as he chuckled at the memory. “You wouldn’t take that thing off for two weeks. I finally had to rip it off in your sleep.”

Hayden watched the old man’s eyes glaze over as he spoke. “I think she might’ve kissed it and that’s why you wouldn’t take it off. Think you might’ve been a little sweet on her back then.”

Jesus. He’d been joking about the meds earlier, but now he was really starting to wonder. “Okay, Pops. If you say so. Might’ve been your other grandson though.” He rolled his eyes, and the old man startled him by popping him in the back of the head.

“You’re my only grandson.”

“Hey, whaddya know? Maybe you’re still kinda sharp after all.”

“I’ll show you sharp,” Pops muttered under his breath. But as they headed toward home, he grinned and shook his head. “Actually, I think I’ll let Ella Jane show you on Monday. That girl’s sharp as they come.”

“LET’S go, son. Up and at ’em. Daylight’s a-wastin’.”

Hayden groaned and rolled over. Blinking his eyes into focus, he turned toward the window. “What daylight?” he croaked out. For the love of everything holy, it was still dark outside. It was official. The old man had lost it.

“It’s 5:30. Didn’t you check the schedule Millie gave you?”

“Schedule?” He sat up and rubbed both fists through his eyes. Glancing down, he noted gratefully that he didn’t have morning wood. Even his dick was still asleep.

He struggled to stand as his granddad produced the paper he’d folded up and forgotten.

Monday through Thursday, it said in small, neat print. Six a.m. to six p.m. Saturday: Seven a.m. to noon. Oh, no. Hell no.

“No way.” He backed up, putting as much distance between himself and that piece of paper as he could. “That’s not a summer job, Pops. That’s slavery.”

“It’s eight dollars an hour and it’s honest work. Which you will do. With a smile on your face. So get moving. You’re not downstairs and ready to leave in five minutes, I’ll sic your grandmother on you.”

If there was one person on earth harder on him than his granddad, it was Gran. The woman would be sweet as pie one minute, telling him what a handsome man he was becoming, and then yanking his ear half off because she’d caught him rolling his eyes the next.

“I’m coming. Give me a minute.”

“I’ll give you five. Not one minute more.” His granddad turned and disappeared down the steps.

Hayden threw on the khaki shorts and gray Mason Landscaping T-shirt he’d been told to wear to work. As he tied his brand new Air Maxes, he tried to figure out what in the world he’d done to deserve a summer of slave labor.

His granddad handed him a mug of steaming bitter coffee when he made it downstairs.

“Gran didn’t make breakfast?” he asked, eyeing the empty kitchen table. It was the one thing he’d actually looked forward to about this summer. His gran made the most amazing pancakes. That he did remember.

His granddad didn’t meet his gaze. He just opened the screen door and held it as Hayden followed him out. “Son, about your gran… She’s got…arthritis and such. We ain’t exactly spring chickens—as you might’ve noticed. I can’t remember the last time she made breakfast, to tell you the truth. We’ll be roughin’ it this summer. You’ll live. I’m still kickin’.”

TWO hours into his first shift at Mason Landscaping & Lawn Maintenance, he was ready to quit. Past ready.

He’d weeded, watered, and rotated. Cut, trimmed, edged, and a whole bunch of other shit that required getting his brand new shoes filthy. Mrs. Mason had tossed him some gloves after his granddad had dropped him off and they were already black and had several holes in them. His hands and back and legs ached. Lacrosse workouts were cake compared to this.

He was ready to call his mommy and tell her he’d learned his lesson. He’d dip into his trust fund to pay to fix his Bentley. Happily. Whatever it took.

But just as he was ready to toss aside the shovel he held and pull out his phone, the door to the house opened. And she walked out. Or marched out, rather.

“Yes, Mama. I know,” she hollered back over her shoulder. “I will. I said I would and I will. It’s handled.” The slamming of the screen door would’ve caused him to jump if he weren’t struck dumb by the sight of her.

Hayden felt his jaw drop just as the shovel he was holding did. It landed on his toe so hard he figured he was probably bleeding. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

She zeroed in on him standing there, gaping at her like an idiot. His heart pounded so hard he could hear the blood it pumped rushing into his ears, could feel the vibration of it against his ribs.

The thin straps of her tight white tank top didn’t even cover the tan lines on her shoulders. His mouth went dry and he wondered briefly if he’d had a heat stroke, died, and gone to Heaven. Until the tan-legged, blond-haired angel in cut-off shorts in front of him spoke. “Well, you workin’ out here or what?” she drawled, glaring at him with her bright aquamarine eyes and a hand on her hip. “We ain’t payin’ you to be a lawn jockey.”

Her voice was sweet and harsh and turned him on so hard it hurt. And just like that, a summer in hell turned into a summer in heaven.

HER mother said they’d played together as kids. But Ella Jane knew she must’ve been mistaken. No way was this arrogant jerk the same boy who used to make mud pies with her when Kyle and Cooper left her out.

“Hayden Prescott, EJ,” her mother had prompted. “You remember. Edwin and Netta’s grandson.”

Right. She kind of remembered a dark-haired boy with greenish eyes who came around with his grandfather and chased her around the backyard.

But standing across from her was a male model wannabe who clearly didn’t know an irrigation system from his ass.