Under the Dusty Sky Read online

  UNDER THE DUSTY SKY

  Allie Brennan

  Dedication

  To Britany, Lindsay, and Kyla who made my years in a boring old prairie town some of my most memorable ones. All my love.

  CHAPTER 1

  Graceland

  It’s been tense around the farm since my brother, Hunter, told us he was leaving. I still think Daddy thought he wasn’t serious. But here he is, his suitcase packed and Emma waiting outside in his pick-up. The black one that Dad threatened to take away from him after we all accepted that he’s definitely going to Lincoln. No matter what. Leaving me stuck here in Middle of Nowhere, Nebraska.

  Hunter has these eyes that coat me in their silky brown concern. He reaches out, grabbing one of my long braids, and tugs it like he used to when I was a kid.

  “Gracie, you know I love you.” His smile is strong and masculine. He looks more like a man now. More like Dad. Dust specks hang in the bright beam of sunlight shining into our huge boot room. The tiny particles sparkle as they float around my favorite brother, the brother that has taken care of me since I was three, since our mom left.

  I stick out my lip and lightly kick his foot. Hoping it will work, but my guilt-trips lost their power at around thirteen.

  “Then don’t leave me. Not with the twins.” I point a thumb at my other two brothers.

  Hunter takes me by the shoulders and pulls me into his chest. I tilt my head to look up at him, and squeeze his waist. He’s solid. Just as solid as Dad, but years of hard farm work do that.

  Everyone pitches in. Dad’s motto. Even I have guns from shoveling crap all day.

  Hunter chuckles, his chest bouncing my head with each short burst. I pull away.

  “Not funny, Hunt. They’re lazy.” I’m flat-out whining now, running out of tricks to make him stay.

  The twins, standing on either side of me in our large entrance, both push my shoulders at the same time. I glare at Hunter. He’s leaving me with this.

  “Hey! Don’t hit your sister, you little shits.” He shoves each of them with one hand, and they both stumble back into the wall behind me. I smile. Hunter always protects me. I’m the youngest and the only girl, which is totally unfair.

  “Don’t go,” I whisper. I know he’s going.

  He looks over his shoulder out the door and runs his hand over his short brown hair. Same color as mine.

  “Graceland, you know I’m going. This is important to Emma. I love her, and you love me. So let me go, little sis.”

  Tears stab at the corners of my eyes. I promised I wouldn’t cry. Told myself that I’ll be mad at Emma forever. Hunter always said I’m the only girl in his life. That it’s family above all else. Until Emma moved to town.

  “Fine. Go.” My mouth pulls into a full and totally fake smile. Teeth and all. I know Hunter sees through it, but it works on everyone else.

  I kiss his cheek quickly before heading down the hall and running up the stairs to the third story of our old farmhouse. I hate when the twins see me cry.

  “I’ll be home in a couple weeks for the Summer Kick-off, Gracie. Don’t be like this,” he yells down the hall.

  I slam my bedroom door and sit hard on the floor. The wood is cold on my bare legs, even though it’s shorts weather outside already.

  No more than three tears fall before I sniff hard and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. Sucking in a slow steady breath, I look up, and my gaze is drawn to my bedside table. A little leather journal lay open, it’s pages worn and cracked from the number of times I’ve flipped through it. I breathe in deeply once more and take my eyes off the book. I can’t read it again. Not right now. Not when I feel like this. A few more breaths, and I still feel uneasy, as if the journal stares at me. Picks at me. Knows how I feel about Hunter leaving.

  I need to go for a ride. Jumping up, I kick off my pajama shorts, and change into my old ripped jeans with the leather patches everywhere. My riding jeans. I’d never be caught wearing these hideous things off the farm. On my way out, I pick up the little book, my mother’s journal, and toss it into the closet, slamming the door, and leave my room.

  Grazing the papered walls with my fingertips, I run down the long hallway that splits our huge house in two. I move through the kitchen. Past Archer, who cocks an eyebrow at me from his place at the table reading another of his stupid books, and jump over Asher’s leg as he tries to trip me. Grabbing the keys for the quad off the wall by the phone, I stick my feet into my mud-caked cowboy boots. The screen door slams behind me as I jump off the porch onto the dusty path. I can see the dust cloud in the distance from Hunter’s truck, and my chest tightens to the point it hurts. I hear the words of my mother.

  When happy is sad…

  I miss Hunter already.

  Hopping on my favorite four-wheel, I try to push my brother from my mind.

  “I wouldn’t, Graceland,” Archer yells, or maybe it’s Asher.

  “Dad’s gunna be pissed,” says the other. I can only tell them apart when I’m looking at them.

  I ignore them and gun the engine, squeezing the throttle with my thumb. The wind whips around me as the quad lurches forward, and I squint my eyes into the bright noon sun.

  It takes no time at all to make it to the end of the long driveway and look both ways down the empty gravel road that leads to town, somewhere just over the south horizon.

  There’s nothing but flat fields and open road. The tires spit gravel as I steer the quad in the direction of the barn. Standing up, I lift one hand from the handlebars and pull the small elastics that hold my braids in place. The wind pulls my hair loose. The strands sting as they whip around my head and slap against the skin of my neck, cheeks and shoulders. I love the quad. I love the freedom, the speed, the control. If only I could drive a real car.

  One month.

  One month, and I can get my license. One month, and I can have my own freedom. Only one problem. I don’t know how to drive. I broke my car trying.

  Okay, two problems.

  I shake my head wildly as I speed down the empty dirt road to the barn. Leaning forward over the handle bars, I scream as loud as I can, as long as I can, because I can. The sound is sucked into the roar of the engine and swallowed up by the open sky. The pain in my chest loosens a little. My favorite part about living on the farm is the space. I’m a mile out and still on our land, only halfway to the stables. The sky is pure blue, stretched out to the horizon in every direction. The wind is warm against my skin, sinking into my muscles and relaxing me a bit more. I slow down and turn onto the long path that leads to the stable and to my horse, Belle. It’s a ridiculous name, I know, but I got her when I was nine and watched Beauty and the Beast like three times a day.

  I stop the quad, cutting the engine but leaving the keys, and hop off. My cowboy boots, which I only wear riding or working, kick up the dry sun baked earth all around me as I make my way to the side of the cracked red barn.

  I round the corner expecting Belle, but I’m greeted by…

  Abs?

  Thick, corded, perfectly defined man-abs. I stop and so does my heart. I have to swallow hard to keep it from popping right out of my mouth.

  I’m not sure what kind of face belongs to these abs. Or why these abs are in my stable yard. Whoever he is, he’s wiping his forehead with the bottom of a dirty white shirt.

  I clear my throat, and the guy jumps, dropping his filthy shirt and staring at me with ice blue eyes from under thick dark eyebrows. His wild dark hair is tangled around his face and soaked in sweat. His lips are thick, angular, and pressed together to complete his frown. He kind of looks like Black Beauty, but with insanely blue eyes.

  Why am I comparing this guy to a horse? Because he’s beautiful and sleek and glisteni
ng…and now he’s grinning.

  I realize I’m staring and narrow my eyes. I never gawk.

  “Who are you?” I ask, crossing my arms in front of my tattered plaid button up. Suddenly I’m wishing I was in my little blue sundress and wedge heels that make me look thinner, and taller.

  And older.

  Ice Eyes scans me slowly, and it makes me jittery. I’m used to this reaction from guys. Just not in this outfit. I tighten my crossed arms and shift my weight from one foot to the other, digging my boot heel into the cracked earth.

  “I might ask you the same thing?” His voice is smooth and deep and makes my ankles wobble. He’s not my age. No guy in my school looks like this.

  But he can’t be too much older.

  “Graceland Holloway. This is my father’s farm.” I cringe as my country accent comes out as clear as ringing a bell in an empty church.

  I bite my lip, and he cocks his head to one side. I try so hard to keep this country farm girl side of me hidden, but sometimes it just can’t be stopped. This lifestyle, the one Daddy loves so much, is one of the reasons Mom left us, and I try to keep the country girl locked up. Especially around strangers.

  I reach out my hand, and Ice Eyes takes a step toward me. I probably shouldn’t be shaking a stranger’s hand without my brothers, or Daddy, around. But this guy is hot, and I want a reason to touch him and see if he feels the way I imagine he does.

  “Bentley McKinna.” He shakes my hand. Hard and calloused. He’s a working guy, which is the best kind.

  “Like the car?” I feel stupid for saying it, but Bentley laughs. His teeth are unnaturally straight and white as fresh milk.

  “Never heard that one before.” He’s mocking me.

  He is like the car. Hard and smooth and sexy…

  Seriously, Graceland.

  I’m staring again.

  I paste on my best smile and run my hand through my hair, messing it up and tossing it to the side. At school, the hair toss gets me pretty much whatever I want. I don’t know why guys like long hair so much, but it works.

  “So why are you hangin’ out in my stable?” I smile wider and jut my hip out, forgetting I’m wearing mom jeans.

  “I hiked out here.” He shrugs.

  “Why? It’s like twenty-five miles to town.”

  “No, I hitchhiked out here from halfway across the country. I’m supposed to start work for your father next week. Just wanted to see some of the countryside. Guess I’m early, huh?”

  I don’t get a chance to reply, but I’m not sure I can. Hitchhiked? Who does that?

  Bentley turns and moves back around the barn, returning with a duffel over his shoulder. He looks like one of those guys in World War II movies who are always dirty but still manage to be insanely gorgeous.

  And this gorgeous hitchhiker is going to be living in my backyard for the summer.

  Maybe this summer won’t be as bad as I thought.

  “I can give you a ride to the house.” I point at the quad and Bentley looks around me.

  “My bag?” he asks.

  “Sit on it.”

  I hope he’s watching as I turn and swing my hips on my way back to the quad. If Hunter were here, he’d slap my head and tell me my actions are insinuating things far beyond my age and experience. I don’t even know what that means. But he says it a lot.

  All I know is Bentley’s hot, and I want to have fun with him. No harm in that.

  I look back at him, throwing my hair over my shoulder again.

  “Are you coming?”

  Bentley has a smirk on his face, but his eyebrows are pulled low over his eyes. He’s thinking.

  “How about I drive?” He tosses his bag on the back rack.

  I laugh.

  “How ‘bout you just get on?”

  He climbs behind me and leans back, holding the rack. I take one more quick glance over my shoulder at him and gun the engine.

  I stand up out of habit, but I know my butt is right at his eye level.

  Insinuate my ass.

  CHAPTER 2

  Graceland

  As I pull into the yard, our family dog, Rasp, comes bounding up the drive, barking like crazy with his crackly voice. He was attacked by a coyote as a pup. Almost had his throat torn out. Hence the name Rasp.

  “He don’t like strangers.” I warn Bentley and then clamp my mouth shut. I can’t believe I just said that. Can I sound any more country?

  “Rasp, down!” I turn my attention back to my dog, and push him gently with my boot while slowly guiding the quad into its parking spot.

  Bentley smiles. “I’m great with dogs.”

  “You don’t know Rasp–”

  My mouth drops open when Rasp scurries up to the machine and plants his golden butt in the dirt right in front of Bentley. His tail thumping in the dirt, and his nose is frantically sniffing the air.

  Bentley leans over and scratches Rasp’s ear. He lets out one small growl before easing into Bentley’s touch. Bentley turns his head and makes this I-told-you-so face.

  “Not to brag, but I’m better than that guy on TV.” He winks at me and hops off the quad. It’s a friendly gesture, and my heart falls. I’m the little sister already, which is not what I’ve been planning the whole ride home.

  The screen door slams, and I jump to face my father. His normally goofy and cheerful face is set in the look that means trouble. The twins are on the porch grinning. Those asshats love it when Dad’s mad at me because it’s rare.

  “Graceland Marie Holloway. I do not work my ass off day and night to buy toys that you think you can just joyride on.” His voice booms as it’s caught up in the breeze and carried away into the wide open landscape. I know I’m in trouble, but while Daddy might scare everyone else, he doesn’t scare me. His hard gaze lands on Bentley, and everything changes.

  A smile spreads across his broad face. My dad’s built like a football player. And not the little ones that run. The big ones who can block an army just by holding out an arm.

  Bentley takes a step back when Dad approaches him.

  “You must be Mr. McKinna,” Dad says loudly and sticks out his hand. Bentley’s shoulders ease a little, and he places his hand inside Dad’s.

  “Bentley. Ben is fine.”

  “Well, Ben. At least my misbehavin’ daughter found ya and brought ya to the right place.” He laughs to Ben but turns a stern glare my way and holds out his hand.

  I smile my best and sweetest smile and place the keys in Dad’s palm.

  “Sorry, Daddy. It’s just I miss Hunter. I was upset is all.” I lay the accent on thick because I know he loves it.

  Bentley narrows his eyes at me, but I don’t falter. I bat my long lashes, and Daddy melts. Like always. I remind him of Mom. I look like her, and I use it when I need to.

  Dad pulls me into a one-armed hug and kisses the top of my head.

  “We’re all gunna miss him, Gracie Bug. Now get. I have to talk business with our new hired help, who decides to show up a week early.”

  “Yeah, sorry, sir. I misjudged how long it would take to get here–“ Bentley starts, but Dad slaps his back and guides him away from me.

  “Don’t be sorry. We’re happy to have you. Always happy to have an extra set of hands…” His voice trails off, or I stop listening, because all I think about is Ben’s set of hands.

  I turn and start to walk to the house. The smile is small at first, but as my mind spins a plan, the corners of my mouth pull up farther and farther. A week of free time and an extra set of hands. I think I might have a job for them, too.

  ***

  Someone’s banging on my door, and it’s still dark out. I don’t even get one day of summer break. One day to sleep in. Forget it. I won’t sleep in until Christmas.

  “Gracie, get your butt outta bed. I thought we were the lazy ones.”

  I roll my eyes and roll over in bed, putting a pillow over my ear. They’re older than me. By eleven months, sure, but no one would know it once they open t
heir mouths. They have moments when they act like normal people, but mostly they act like brothers.

  “Gracie, if you don’t get up we’re coming in. You remember what happened last time.” One of them snickers.

  I sit straight up in bed.

  “I’ll kill you if you come in here! I swear to God,” I scream. My heart is hammering. There are two of them. One to hold me down, and the other to do whatever he pleases. Spit on me, draw on me, punch me in the leg until it goes numb. I always get them back, but I can’t have this on the first day of my plan to mess with the new guy.

  “No need to be dramatic, sis.” Asher sticks his head through the door. I know it’s him because his hair is just a shade lighter than Archer’s. Why did my mom have to do the stupid rhyming thing with their names?

  I grab my brush off my nightstand and hurl it at the door. He shuts it just as the brush slams into the wood.

  I hate them. I also hate mornings. Combining the two is a terrible way to start the day.

  I rifle through my dresser until I find the shorts I’m looking for. Jean cut offs. There’s a lot cut off.

  I slip my tightest white tank on and throw a loose work shirt over top, unbuttoned, to make sure some of my stomach shows. I think about tying the work shirt up, but the twins will see through it and then everyone will hear about it, including Bentley.

  Another bang at the door.

  “What?” I yell, thinking it’s the twins.

  “Is that any way to say good morning to your father?” Dad’s voice is pleasant and sounds like he’s laughing. I slide across the hardwood floor and pull open the door.

  “Sorry, Daddy. I thought it was someone else.”

  Dad leans back and takes me in.

  “Go put pants on. Not appropriate.” He gestures to me with his hand.

  My jaw drops along with my gut.

  “But,” I stutter, and he waves his hand again.

  “You’ll thank me, Bug. You’ll be scrubbing shit off ya with a wire brush for a month if you go like that. You’re on chickens today.”

  I groan. “Daddy, I hate cleaning the chickens. They’re so gross.”