The Farmer's Son

Chapter 41 Stolen Whiskey Memories

On each tread of the front porch steps sat a cousin, two girls on the bottom, Alan in the middle, and the last behind him. Around them scattered brightly colored combs, sparkly barrettes, bobby pins, hair ties and ribbons—all the accoutrements necessary to play Hair Salon.

Long legs stretched out beside the girls on the steps, Alan happily braided the long curly hair with nimble fingers of experience—this was not his first Hair Salon and would not be his last—as behind him, his cousin combed and pinned his hair with glittered bobby pins, then let it down and did fine braids, then let them out and began tying the short hair in small pigtails. All the while they chattered like make believe adults, in that exaggerated but not really way, gossiping about someone's fashion choice, and worrying about what the humidity will do to their new hairdo.

Marge and Jeff were taking a much-deserved nap, and Noah had left to take something to the dump. Ray, drawn by the merry voices, came down the hall towards the open front door. Folding his arms, he leaned against the jamb and watched through the screen door with high amusement as Alan matched the girlish energy of his cousins, giving his best scandalized gasps and breathy judgement at the appropriate moments. Then, like some well-coordinated military maneuver or battle formation, the cousins shuffled positions, and Alan shifted up to sit on the porch floor, and closer to the door behind him.

Blue eyes followed his every move, tracing the lines of his profile as Alan turned his head to pick up a comb, lingering over the burnished skin, which glowed even in the shade of the porch. Freed from their pigtails, the cornsilk hair held a slight wave as it fluttered with every head turn. Though turned away from him now, Ray could imagine the twinkling sugar-colored eyes, filled with fondness for the girls, and the easy smile on the wide mouth of the freckled face.

Sensing he was being watched, Alan looked back. His breath caught on an inhale, and his heart thumped deeply in his chest as he caught and held vibrant blue eyes, the likes of which he'd never seen before or since Ray had come to the farm. Ray held his gaze, not a trace of bashfulness in his eyes or face. Alan had glanced up expecting to find Bear, but instead, he had found an animal of a different nature.

He left out the breath, and with it a smile. He tipped his head forward, indicating Ray should come out and join them. With a chuckle, Ray did, pushing out the screen door and stepping out onto the porch. "Can I get a wash and trim?" he asked. "The last place I went to really did a hack job."

As the last time he had a haircut was by Alan, Ray got a fist to his shin. "That's the last time you frequent my establishment," Alan said, trying to punch him again.

"The haircut might have been subpar," Ray said, catching hold of Alan's fist. "But the service was excellent." Leaning down he added with a grin, "Stolen whiskey and bacon I never had."

Alan's eyes widened even as his lips pressing together to hold back a smile. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

With a low chuckle, Ray let go of his hand. "Sure, you don't."

Actually having no idea what they were talking about, the girls were still only too happy to accommodate Ray—even if he didn't have an appointment.

Ray had not been the only one watching Alan and the girls, however. Inside, through the windows that looked out from the dining room, Marge stood with a glass of water in one hand, the other folded across her waist. She watched Alan look back, saw the look on his face and in his eyes, and then the grin that parted his lips. She watched the little exchange between them, and then as Ray took a seat below the last tread, sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, she watched Alan bite his lip with a smile.

Lifting the glass to her own lips, she watched, but was not the least bit surprised by what she saw.

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