Dirty Country Love: A Step-Brother Romance Novella (2 page)

But now he cared.

The moment drew on between the two of ‘em for a while, with
Damien reaching a hand up and brushing back a stray lock of hair from
her face. But at last, he smiled unevenly again and pulled away.

“Gonna go hit the hay, Britney. Didn’t see no car out
front, so I s’pose that means you’ll be ridin’ with
me to the funeral tomorrow,” he said, turning and strolling
slowly towards his former room in the old house.

On his motorcycle?

Just the thought of it gave her the chills — the
good-but-bad kind — and then she felt guilty that Mr. Drake’s
funeral wasn’t the first thing on her mind. Damien was.

She nodded mutely, a lump in her throat keeping her quiet as she
pictured herself grabbing onto those abs as they rode up the dirt
road.

It was going to be hard getting to sleep.

Mornin’ came after a restless night of thinking about the
man that was near to a father to her, and Damien.

Though old man Drake was like a pa, Damien could never be said to
be like a brother to her. He was older than her by a few years, and
so by the time she came over he was already a teenager, doing teenage
things when not on the farm, doing the men’s work when he was.
She never got to spend much time with him, and then suddenly he was
gone.

But none of that kept her from admiring him from afar.

Much like how when she awoke — a lil’ later than she
intended, thanks to the restless night — she came out to the
sight of Damien getting out of the bath.

He hadn’t bothered shutting the door, shameless or heedless
as he was, and she saw him rising up, water cascading off his body.
The morning light shone in through the window, glittering off the
liquid.

He was big, bigger than his pa even. Broad of shoulder, with
muscles like outta the movies! Though unlike those movie fellas, he
was dark and hairy, covered in tattoos. A heart was right square in the middle of his chest, a phoenix on his hip. Ebon hair upon his torso, runnin’ down from
his pecs through the middle of his abs before coming to…

Oh lord, she nearly fainted!

She’d never rightly seen a man naked, not full on like that.
And Damien was full on, alright. Full on man, just… full! And
big! Lordy!

He yanked the towel from the rack and brought it to his chest
before noticing her, flashing a big ol’ grin in her direction.

She wished the floor would just swallow her whole then because
there wasn’t no pretending she didn’t see it all. She
swallowed hard but she couldn’t say nothing, couldn’t
even move. It was like she was hoping that if she just stayed still
and quiet he wouldn’t have seen her after all.

Her nightgown billowed around her thighs, one of the open windows
bringing with it a cool morning breeze, and it was enough to wake her
from her stupor. She turned on her heels, staring instead at the
wall.

“Sorry!”

Damien took his time, toweling himself and then his dark hair off
as he strode on out of the bathroom. She could see only a faint
glimpse of him from the corner of her view, but he wasn’t
making a big effort to cover himself up entirely.

Instead, he watched her for a moment at the door to his room.

“Bathroom’s all yours now, Britney,” he said
before he went inside his space, giving her a final glimpse of his rear.

She cursed inwardly, and cursing wasn’t something she
normally did. She went to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her
so that she could be alone with her embarrassment. She looked in the
mirror and sure as shootin’, her pale face was bright red, her
blonde hair a mess all around it.

She took her sweet time getting ready after that, afraid to poke
her head back out. But once she finally did, she caught sight of
something she never thought she’d see.

Damien stood there, in a suit and tie, and though he sure as
shootin’ wasn’t clean-shaven, he was lookin’ like
some stud out of the movies, or off an ad. The black suit fittin’
his broad body so snug and tight, but tight in all the right ways, it
was perfectly fitted. And the fact his hair was a lil’ tousled
and his stubble a lil’ rugged, only added to the way he looked.

“Ready whenever you are, Brit,” he said, hands in his
pockets.

Suddenly she felt underdressed in her simple black dress, and
shined up mary-jane shoes. She didn’t have much to wear to such
a somber occasion, but she did her best.

“I’m ready,” she replied, her head dipping down,
her face still feelin’ too hot from catchin’ him nude.

He tilted his head towards the stairs before leadin’ the
way.

“C’mon,” he said.

It wasn’t long before she was facin’ the prospect of
ridin’ a motorcycle for the first time in her life. As Damien
climbed atop it, he pulled the helmet off the seat and handed it over
to her.

“For your safety,” he said, apparently set on ridin’
to his own pa’s funeral in a suit atop that noisy machine.
Britney had trouble understanding it. Even if it did have a certain…
appeal, in other ways.

It felt wrong, the way her heart was pounding and her excitement
was rising when she was on her way to a sombre occasion. It wasn’t
fair the way those contrasting emotions were warring within her, but
she was grateful for a break from the sorrow. Even though her head
pounded with sadness, her stomach tightened with excitement as she
wrapped her arms lightly around his waist.

He took her hands, pulling her into him tighter and sending her
heart to racin’ even faster. She could feel his abs with her
hands pressed beneath his suit jacket, and when that roar went from
beneath them, her squeak of surprise was drowned out by it.

She could not only hear the roar of his motorcycle but feel it as
it shook through her body, the powerful beast circling around then
carrying them along the gravel drive up towards the road. It
reverberated through every square inch of her body, and once she
slowly got over the tension of riding on a motorcycle for the first
time she let the thrum of its engine soothe her.

Distract her.

They got to the funeral service sooner than she’d have
liked, and she bawled her eyes out the whole time.

Damien had been gone for so long she’d almost put him out of
her mind entirely, but there he was again. Like a dark knight who’d
made an about-face to come rescue her. He held her when she had no
one else in the funeral home, and coddled her through his own stoic
suffering.

There was no body, just the ashes.

When all was said and done, one of the final visitors was the
local attorney, who strode on up to give his condolences.

“I’m so sorry for yer loss, you two. The old man was
such a charitable soul,” he said, looking dour.

She wiped away her tears, her face feeling slightly damp and
uncomfortable. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to
cry and that she’d be strong, but the loss of someone so close
to her shook her to the core. The only thing that took the edge off
at all was Damien’s heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she managed, her voice strained. She’d
lost her ma at eight, but it weren’t any easier.

“I wanted you both to know, there’s no rush. But your
pa had said a few things in his will about the farm that you two
should hear,” he said.

She nodded, though her brows were knit and curiosity was inching
away her sorrow. She glanced up at Damien as he nodded and squeezed
her shoulder.

“Yeah, we’ll get around to it,” Damien said,
rubbing her shoulder in support. “I’m sure it’s
just a simple matter of splittin’ the farm up half and half.”

The lawyer hesitated, but looked like he had somethin’ more
to say.

“Come by and we’ll discuss it,” he said, leaving
them both temporarily confused.

The next few days were difficult, but Britney entered into old
routines quickly, and found herself not eager to return to her life
as a waitress. She cooked and cleaned, kept the house tidy as Damien,
after being away much longer than her, reacquainted himself with the
old homestead.

He returned as supper approached, the kitchen hot as Britney
prepared dinner.

“Repaired that fence anyhow. So whoever buys the place got
one less complaint to make when he haggles,” he said, coming to
the sink beside her to wash his hands.

Though topless and sweaty, he probably needed to wash more than
his hands. A day working in the sun, and Damien’s hard,
chiselled body was coated in perspiration.

It only seemed to make him more attractive, and Britney couldn’t
help but let her eyes linger along the lines of his body. His muscles
were more pronounced after the workout, glimmering in the yellow
light of the room. His shoulder blades pressed together, then parted,
his pants slung low around his hips.

She forced her gaze away, a blush comin’ to her cheeks.

“Supper’s almost ready,” she said with a bit of
airiness to her voice. “Hope you brought your appetite.”

“You kiddin’ me?” He said with a wry grin, “It’s
just a good thing those horses were taken over to Mr. Thompson’s
farm, because I’d have eaten one or two of ‘em already
today.”

The strange thing about Damien now, was that though he was scarier
lookin’ than ever, bigger, badder and more ominous, he was
actually much nicer to her than he ever was when he was a boy. He
rarely spared her the time of day to make a joke then.

“So what’s on the menu?” he asked, claiming a
dish towel as his own as he splashed water onto his face and then
dried off.

“Well it’s Sunday, so I figured Sunday dinner was in
order. Ma never had a chance to teach me, but the diner does it from
time to time and figured I’d just take what I remembered and
piece it together. Got ‘taters and chicken with all the
fixin’s, with apple pie for dessert.”

“Sounds fuckin’ awesome,” he said in that gruff,
crass voice of his. Though he looked impressed as he soaked it in
before headin’ off. “Gonna go clean up more seriously
since yer puttin’ in all this effort.”

Britney smiled as she put down the plates, filling their glasses
up and putting the napkins beside the utensils. It all looked rather
pretty, she thought. Like somethin’ a real family would do.

It kind of made her regret the fact that he was plannin’ on
selling the farm. Not like she could run it all on her lonesome, and
she’d never found a man she’d been interested in. Oh,
sure, they’d flirt with her at the diner and make her blush,
but she’d never felt a pull towards any one of ‘em.

When Damien returned to the table, he was dressed in jeans and a
nice shirt. Nothin’ too classy, but downright respectable.
Almost wiped away some of the bad boy look. Or well… not
quite. Sure, it hid the tattoos on his muscles, but it couldn’t
hide the hardened look of the man he’d become. Even if he did
spare her a smile as he sat down.

“Smells goddamn delicious, Brit,” he said.

“You still got that mouth on you,” she replied as she
gave him a more gentle smile. It was still strange for her, his
softened behaviour and his much hardened look. Even if he did still
cuss.

He shook his head and laughed before he dug in, and though he
didn’t speak again for some time, the way he loaded up his
plate with more of everything he tried, and woofed it on down spoke
volumes.

“This is damn good, Brit,” he said, eyes wide, looking
surprised. “When’d you learn to be such a good cook,
huh?” he asked.

She laughed as her shoulders raised in a shrug.

“You’re the one that said you’d have eaten a
horse, and they’re tough as leather. So maybe you just ain’t
got any taste.” She was teasing, being modest, but she relished
his compliments.

Damien shook his head and resumed eating, and she almost thought
he was done on the issue. But he was just too wrapped up in eating
her meal.

“Can’t remember the last time I ate a meal any bit
close to this… if ever. Ain’t had nothin’ like
this in the city, that’s for damn sure,” he said, winking
to her as he bit into some potato with gravy and gave a deep, pleased
moan that had to be exaggerated!

It made her laugh, and that tension she was still holdin’
between her shoulders started to fade away. She wanted to put up an
argument, say he was just flatterin’ her, but she couldn’t
bring herself to do that. Not when he looked so happy, and she was
feelin’ so good.

She was dying with curiosity about him, about what he’d been
doing for all those years gone by without a word. She just didn’t
know how to bring it up.

Luckily with the lighter atmosphere, the sombre occasion slowly
faded into a dull ache rather than a full blown sorrow, she wondered
if she’d soon have her chance.

Time came to go meet the lawyer, and Damien was outside, revvin’
his motorcycle to hurry her up.

“C’mon Brit! Let’s get this done with,” he
said.

Though honestly, the days they’d spent together on the farm
weren’t something she was eager to get over with, and she’d
tried putting it off. But Damien was a demandin’ man, and when
he had his mind set to something; he got it.

“Coming!” she said, hurrying on down to hop on the
back of his motorcycle and clinging to him.

He had his leather jacket on again, that suit only worn for the
funeral itself. It wasn’t somethin’ Damien was fond of,
that was easy to tell. But that rugged look made him more comfortin’
to wrap her arms about. Like she could count on him in any kind of
rough situation.

Before long they arrived at the lawyer’s office, which was
really just an add-on to the man’s family house. It was a laid
back place, with a mess of papers everywhere.

“Come on in, you two,” he said, smiling comfortingly.
“Can I get ya both anythin’?”

“Nah,” Damien shook his head, and Britney smiled and
declined politely.