“You sold me some syrup a few months ago,” I said, turning back to look at him. “At the farmers’ market.”
Branson scowled. “What are you, a spy? You can’t be his girlfriend. My mom hasn’t said a thing about you, and she’s all focused on Ben getting married someday and having his own family.”
“Brans, it’s not necessary. Let’s just get you home.”
Suddenly, the cloud broke and rain poured down in sheets.
“Shit,” Ben said softly.
“Another thing you can blame on me,” Branson muttered.
“You can’t blame a storm on someone,” I said, interjecting like an idiot.
“The road we have to cross floods when it’s been dry for a while,” Branson said matter-of-factly.
“Oh.”
We puttered down the dirt road a little longer, and I was hoping we made it. All of a sudden, my stomach growled, and I reminded myself Ben had sandwiches.
On our left, we passed a large farm sign marked Stevens’ Cattle. As soon as we passed it, we came to a crossroad that was in fact flooding.
With another round of cursing, Ben made a U-turn and turned left onto the Stevens’s property. “Looks like I’m going to say hi to an old friend.”
“Who?” I asked. “Here?”
“Here. Scott Stevens was a few years older than me, but he was a mentor in the Pee Wee football league and a friend of Brenna’s back in the day. I think they went to a homecoming or two, and then things went cold.”
Having been quiet for a while, Branson piped up again. “Oh, great. Just what I need.”
I nodded for lack of nothing better to do or say, all the while wondering if Scott was Branson’s dad. But Scott sounded like a stand-up guy, which Branson’s dad definitely didn’t sound like.
“They have great cattle,” Ben said, “and also do cheese on the side. Not in direct competition with my folks, but enough that we don’t sell their steaks. We’re working with a new steak supplier.” He rambled on, probably due to nerves, I thought.
Pulling up in front of the farmhouse, Ben said, “Let’s make a break for it.”
Not giving either of us a chance to respond, he was out of the Jeep and running to open my door. With my hand in his and Branson trailing behind us, we dashed toward the door.
Ben didn’t even need to knock when the door was opened by a tall guy, probably about six-foot-one with blond hair and blue eyes.
“Scott.” Ben extended his hand in greeting while the rain pelted the covered porch.
“Ben Rooney, what are you doing here?” Scott shook Ben’s hand, his blue eyes taking me in, absorbing every detail. Then he offered me his hand, ignoring a sullen Branson. “Hi, I’m Scott.”
“Murphy,” was all I could say before a huge bolt of lightning lit the sky, quickly followed by a loud roll of thunder.
Scott waved us inside. “Come in, and then you can tell me why you’re here. Not that I’m not thrilled, but . . .”
“Road’s flooded,” Ben said when we were inside.
“You know that road floods.”
“Yeah. Murphy and I were heading in the opposite direction when I got a call to pick up Branson near here.” Ben cocked his head toward his nephew. “Do you know Branson? He’s Brenna’s—”
“Of course I know,” Scott said, not letting Ben finish.
My head swung back and forth, taking all this in. The whole scene was feeling like something out of a soap opera.
“I got into trouble,” Branson blurted.
“Well, you’re Brenna’s boy,” Scott said with a laugh.
“Hey, that’s my mom,” Branson said sharply, coming to his mom’s defense.
Ben stepped in to smooth things over. “Your mom and Scott were friends back in high school. She had a good time. Classes were easy for her, and she didn’t get a chance at prep school like me.”
“I know,” Branson said, fidgeting from foot to foot. “I saw his picture in Mom’s albums. You know when she gets sentimental and starts going through memories?”
More awkward silence filled the foyer.
“Listen,” Ben said to Scott, “I’m sorry to barge in on you so unexpectedly. But like I said, the road’s flooded, and I don’t want to take any chances with these two. If we’re not in your way, can we wait it out here?”
Scott waved a hand. “Of course. It’s no bother. In fact, I just came in from checking the barns. I was going to do some paperwork, but it can wait.”
Feeling uncomfortable, I said quickly, “You don’t have to entertain us. Do people do this here, show up at other people’s houses and wait out a flood? This wasn’t how I was raised.”
“Murphy’s from New York,” Ben said to explain.
Scott gave me a small smile. “Welcome to Vermont.”
“You got anything to eat?” Branson asked abruptly, just as my stomach growled again, and Ben frowned at him.
“Looks like everyone is hungry. Go sit down,” Scott said, pointing toward a comfy family room.
“Are you sure?” I whispered again, this time to Ben when we sat down. As my butt sank into a leather couch with a plaid blanket folded behind me, Ben sat next to me.
“It’s fine, Murph. No one wants anyone to get hurt here. The Jeep might be able to drive through the water, but it could get shorted out and we’d be stuck.”
Branson plopped into the chair across from us. “So, you have a girlfriend and we don’t know?” he said to Ben. “Mom’s gonna shit.”
“Brans, cut it out.”
“She is . . . seriously. She kept saying you seemed busier than usual, maybe you were inventing something new.”
“Branson, it’s enough,” Ben said sharply.
There was an edge to his voice that I didn’t quite recognize. Maybe he was worried his sister wouldn’t like me? I didn’t know what he could be inventing, but I was hung up on him not telling his sister about me.
“Here.” Scott reappeared with a charcuterie board filled with enough cheeses and meats for thirty people. After setting it on the coffee table in front of us, he took a seat in the chair opposite
