Hard 5 by Stephanie Brother

4

As it gets later in the day, I realize that dinner will most likely be expected. I haven't rested at all since I arrived, bar the fifteen minutes I took with Sawyer, but after all this work, I know tomorrow will be easier. In the fridge I find two large chickens, which I place together in a roasting tray. I stuff them with half an onion and half a lemon and cover the skins in garlic powder and mixed herbs. They'll take at least an hour and a half to cook, but I allow for more because I'm not familiar with their oven. It takes more rooting around for me to find potatoes that I peel and cut into chunks. My mom's roast potatoes were the best things ever. Cooked simply with salt, pepper, and dried rosemary, they had a sweet taste to them, which went so well with chicken. I prepare the carrots and broccoli that I'll steam later. While the oven is doing the hard work, I decide that showering is an absolute necessity.

I find straw in my hair from last night, which is mortifying, and the skin on my hands is a little sore from all the scrubbing. I use the Bradford brothers’ simple shampoo to preserve my own stock, but they don't have conditioner. Their soap is something with a citrus scent that seems to wake my senses. I go from tired to invigorated in just fifteen minutes.

I don't have a dress like Amber to wear for dinner, just clean jeans and a simple white t-shirt. I towel-dry my hair and pinch my cheeks to brighten my complexion. When I stare at myself in the mirror, I scowl, not because I look bad but because I don't like it that I want to look nice.

A person's value isn't in what they look like on the outside, at least that's what my momma always used to say. I'm not sure if it was because she thought I was plain or if she simply wanted to encourage me to look for the qualities in people that matter. I don't think I'm plain. My eyes are a pretty shade of blue, like Amsonia blue star flowers, and my hair is long and straight, the color of a cornfield. My body is healthy and strong, but I have no idea if it has the proportions that men prefer. Who knows what they like? Half the women in magazines look as though they're starving themselves and the other half look like parts of their bodies have been inflated with a balloon pump. It's impossible to know what to aspire to, so I keep it all concealed behind simple, functional clothes.

I don't think the Bradford brothers think anything of me other than I'm useful to keep house and someone they need to pity for being in difficult circumstances, and that's good. At least, I tell myself that's what I should think, but a little part of me is fascinated by their intense masculinity, their crazy similarities, and glaring differences.

Now the floors are clean, I wander back down to the kitchen with my feet bare, bending to check on the chickens and sliding in the tray of potatoes to start cooking.

The only room I haven't gotten around to cleaning downstairs is the deserted dining room. The kitchen table is big enough for us all to eat around, so it's not a necessity to ready it today. The thing that draws me is the pile of boxes stacked in the far corner. The house is really lacking the homely personal touch, so I take a peek inside to see if there is anything that the Bradfords have neglected to unpack.

Inside the top box are stacks of dusty photo frames filled with pictures. I pull out the two nearest the top and squint at the figures, trying to work out the scene. It's a man and woman, and in front of them are five children; five of the cutest boys I've ever seen. The kids are all too small to properly identify, but it must be the Bradfords. Their parents aren't sitting close together, and it's the same in the next photo. It's presumptuous of me, but I don't get the feeling that theirs was or is a happy marriage. Their father has a stern look about him that leads me to think of him as a strong disciplinarian. With five young children, maybe that was necessary, although my momma always said that a kind word goes much further than a scold.

Would the Bradfords want me to display these pictures, or have they left them in boxes because they're reminders of an unhappy past? I guess I'm going to need to ask them.

Just as I'm sliding the frames back out of sight, the now-familiar sound of the front door banging makes me jump.

Loud men's voices echo through the hallway, and as I scuttle quickly into the kitchen, I'm faced with the five men of the house all in one hit. And what a hit it is.

I am absolutely certain that the amount of testosterone in this room is at a dangerous level. They look like they've grown up eating only the best American beef. In one synchronized move, they all remove their hats, except Scott, of course. He keeps his in place.

"Melanie." Cash declares my name as he gazes around the space that I've transformed from dingy hovel to homely farmhouse kitchen. The smell of roasting chicken is thick in the air, and they all inhale, nostrils flaring with appreciation.

"Dinner is almost ready. You need to take those boots off right there. The floors have all been cleaned, and I'm not repeating the process tomorrow."

Cary grins, still chewing something as though his life depends on it. "One thing's for sure. Cash hired a bossy housemaid."

"I'm not a maid. This isn't eighteenth-century England."

"It smells like you're a chef. I swear, whatever's cooking is going to be the best meal we've eaten in months," Sawyer says. He's already shucking off his boots and dropping them in the big basket by the front door. His brothers follow suit, even Scott, who glances at me with narrowed eyes as though he wants to stride mud through the rooms just to spite me. I guess his brothers wouldn't stand for it. Or maybe his petulance is more about attitude than action.

"Wash up, and dinner will be ready in thirty minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," Colt says. He's the first out of the door and up the stairs, whistling at the cleanliness as he goes. I haven't touched their bedrooms yet. I thought I should ask for permission before dealing with their personal spaces—another job for tomorrow.

I prepare the last of the meal, making a meaty gravy to go with the chicken. There aren't many serving dishes, so I use wooden chopping boards to protect the table from the roasting pans. I'm used to carving chickens and make quick work of separating all the good parts from the carcass. By the time they begin arriving, everything is ready, and the table is set.

To say that I'm proud of myself is an understatement. It isn't because I want them to be paying me compliments. It's nice when people are happy with my work, for sure. It's more that today has given me confidence. If this doesn't work out here, I know I can apply for similar positions, maybe in higher-class houses. Maybe I could leave ranch life behind and head for the city.

Even as I think it, I don't feel excited. Maybe it's true that you can take the girl out of the ranch but not the ranch out of the girl.

"This looks…" Cary shakes his head as though words are escaping him.

"Take a seat and serve yourself," I order primly. I might be cooking the food, but I'm not going to be providing silver-service dining here.

Cash is next to take a seat and load up his plate. It's at this point that I realize I should probably serve some bread to go with the meal too. There's plenty of food, but these men have been working for hours. They're going to need a serious number of calories to get them through.

I slice the last of the bread, and Cary and Cash take it appreciatively.

When Sawyer, Scott, and Colt arrive, I finally take the last seat, glancing around at the clean group of men in front of me. Damn, they really scrub up. The C triplets all have light brown hair with a slight curl to it. In contrast, the S twins are darker, and their style is closer cropped. There's not a clean-shaven face amongst them. I guess beards are either fashionable for ranchers right now, or maybe it's just about practicality. Although there is such similarity, I can already easily tell them apart through facial expression and posture. Bone, skin, and flesh might be the same, but character shines through like a beacon.

I've put a jug of water on the table, but Scott rises from his seat and returns with five bottles of beer. "Where's mine?" I ask after he's handed them around.

"You old enough to drink?"

"I'm legal," I say.

Colt sniggers, and Cash shoots him a disgusted look. "Get the girl a beer," he orders his brother. "She deserves it."

With another scowl, Scott retrieves me a cool glass bottle, and I drain it quickly, not to prove my drinking prowess but because this has been a busy day and I'm parched. When I place the bottle on the table, I find five sets of eyebrows raised.

"What?" I shrug and fork a piece of chicken, bringing it to my mouth and chewing nonchalantly.

Cash shakes his head, his eyes moving slowly from brother to brother. "Holden called me today."

"Really," Cary says. "How are they?"

"Good." Cash, I'm realizing, is a man of few words.

"What did he want?" Sawyer asks.

"They invited us over on Sunday."

Scott shakes his head. "We don't have time to take a whole day off driving for hours and socializing."

Cash nods. "That's why I told them to come here."

"Here?" It would seem that Scott is totally against the idea of entertaining whoever Holden is.

"Melanie can prepare a meal. We can work in the morning and maybe after they leave. I don't imagine they'll stay too long. They have the new baby."

"How many more will I be cooking for?" I ask.

"Five," Cash replies.

"Five? So, two adults, two children, and a baby?" I'm half nosy and half calculating volumes of food required.

"Five adults. The baby is too young to eat."

I raise my eyebrows. Five adults. "Holden's our cousin," Cary explains. "He has three brothers…and they're all in a…"

Cash clears his throat. "They'll be here at one o'clock. We can eat out back."

I haven't had a chance to explore the area around the house yet, but I will tomorrow. I need to be sure of the setup, so I know whether to make food we can eat at a table or food to be eaten more casually. And why on earth did Cash cut his brother off mid-sentence? There's something strange going on here, but how do I get to the bottom of it? Maybe, if I get Cary alone, he'll share what Cash didn't want him to discuss in front of me.

Conversation dries up while the men wolf their food down, wiping their plates clean with the bread. I eat a good portion, too, knowing there could come a time soon when I might not have access to such a nutritious meal.

"Thank you," Cary says. "That was something really special."

"You're talking like you never ate chicken before," Scott laughs, but it's not a nice laugh. It's a laugh tinged with ridicule.

"I haven't eaten chicken that good since…"

Cash clears his throat again. "You've more than proved yourself, Melanie. Forget the week trial. Would you stay?"

I shrug. "Let's keep the week trial. I need to make sure that this is a place I want to be and that you're the men I want to work for. It's easier for me to prove my capabilities. It's hard for you to prove your worth."

Scott laughs again, and Cash shoots him a look that could wither a crop like a drought. "That's fine," he says. "I understand what you're saying, and I don't doubt that me and my brothers will show you that this is a good place to work over the next six days. Won't we?"

The Bradford brothers all nod except Scott, whose midnight eyes find mine with a challenge. I cock my head to the side, shaking it and smirking. Does he seriously think I've never come across a man with a chip on his shoulder? Half the working men at our farm had a sorry story to tell and enough anger buried inside about it to turn any sky stormy. This man has something against me, but it's not personal. Most likely, he's had a problem with his momma, or a girl broke his heart. Now he can't see the female form without associating that hurt. Little boys sulk when their toys break. He needs to learn that one broken toy doesn't mean a lifetime of broken toys.

"Well, that's settled then. You guys can all go sit down in the den while I finish up here. Then I'm going to head to bed. Oh, and you'll need to eat cereal tomorrow. We're out of bread."

They all rise, taking their plates to the counter. As everyone else leaves the room, Cary stays. "Let me help you with all of this," he says.

"I'm good. This is what you're paying me for." The water runs cold for a while, so I wait for it to heat. While I do, Cary clears the table, putting the leftovers into a dish and covering it with plastic wrap. I start to wash the dishes, expecting him to leave, but he searches out a dishtowel and dries up.

"You being here is going to make a huge difference to us," he says.

"You were struggling. I could see that."

"Scott doesn't like anyone outside of the family getting involved in our home. We've had cleaners, but Scott always found an excuse to let them go. In the end, we just did what we could to get by. But homemaking isn't any of our strengths."

"Farming is, though."

He nods. "We know how to get the most from the land. This business isn't about sticking to old methods. It's about trying to find new ones."

I think of my pa and how resistant he was to change. Maybe that's what drove him to gamble. Maybe the farm wasn't paying enough, and he thought he’d found a way out. While I have Cary alone, I'm going to ask him about the dinner on Sunday.

"What were you going to say about your guests?"

Cary lowers the dishtowel and chews on the inside of his cheek. Cash made it clear he didn't want the information shared with me, but I'm going to be here Sunday, so I'll see whatever it is for myself. "My cousins, Holden, Harris, Karter, and Kane, are in a relationship with one woman."

"What?" I drop the sponge into the dirty dishwater, giving him my full attention.

"It's called polyamory. It seems to have become a thing in our family."

"A thing?"

"Our first cousins on our mother's side seem to like it. Our other first cousins, Max, Miller, and Mason, got married last year to one woman called Natalie."

"I thought that kind of thing was reserved for men in other countries…you know…princes with royal harems."

"Me too," Cary says. "I haven't spoken to Holden or the rest of them about it. Cash is the one who deals with family ties."

In my mind, I imagine four men who resemble Cary with one woman. I haven't even been with one man. What would four be like? Maybe she moves between them, giving them a night each in the week? Or three nights each, every fortnight, with two off for herself. My cheeks begin to flush. Or could it be naughtier? Could she be with them all at once?

"So, they're bringing their girlfriend?" I ask, wondering what she'll be like. And wondering too if she'll be open about their arrangement.

"Yes. They're bringing Connie and their baby, Brett. This will be our first meeting."

"Well, I better cook something good so you can all make a good first impression."

Cary snorts. "I don't think it's the food we need to worry about. I think Scott might be the one to ruin impressions for all of us."

When everything is done, Cary hangs around, then asks me if I want to join them in the den. He's so sweet to think about including me, but I'm tired right down to my bones. All the weeks of worrying about the farm sale and the stress of sleeping in the barn last night have caught up with me.

"Thanks, but I'm going to bed."

Cary nods. "I hope you'll want to stay," he says. "This house needs someone to bring some warmth and heart into it."

"I don't know if that's what I'm bringing. More like food and cleanliness."

He shrugs. "Maybe it's the same thing."

That night, I slide into a clean, warm bed with gratitude, too tired to think about what my life might bring next.