Page 1 of Boy Next Door at Mountain Creek Ranch
1
WILLOW
The feud between the Holloway and Montgomery families is the stuff of legends. I’m not exactly sure when the feud began, but I do know it was over a missing bull. Over the years, multiple attempts have been made by some of the residents of Centennial Springs to try and ease the tension. But like the bull that started this feud, our two families are too bullheaded to let it go.
In high school, my ninth-grade science teacher, Mr. Wilks, tried to force the two families together by pairing Beau Montgomery and me for the science fair. He thought that if our parents could see Beau and me working together, they would realize that it’s silly to keep the feud going when their children were able to get past it. We only got one afternoon of work done together before Mrs. Montgomery stormed into the principal's office and insisted that Beau get a new partner. I never admitted this out loud, but I was disappointed when Josie Anderson was reassigned as his partner. Unlike my crush on Beau, that was secret, Josie was very vocal about her intentions with him.
I’d like to say that I moved on from my high school crush on Beau, but unfortunately, it’s morphed into full-on love from a distance. It doesn’t help that I seem him every Saturday morning at the Centennial Springs Farmer’s market. I sneak glances at him whenever I can.
He’s working at his honey stand diagonal from mine. I can’t help but smile at the sign he has hanging up. It readsBeau’s Honeyand has a cartoon drawing of him getting stung in the butt by one of his honey bees as it giggles. I know he drew that picture himself. In school, he always had his head down, drawing in his sketch pad. I would have given to see what he was drawing back then.
“Sugar Gravel?” A shrill woman’s voice asks as she pulls me out of my daydreaming about Beau.
I stare at the woman, confused. "I'm sorry?"
“What is sugar gravel?” She repeats but says each word slowly like I’m an idiot.
“Oh,” I smile at her trying to hide my annoyance with her. “It’s the name of my bakery here in town. My younger sister hated sprinkles growing up and used to call them sugar gravel.”
“That’s a stupid name for a bakery.”
I’m a bit taken aback by her bluntness. “It’s not a typical name for a bakery, I agree, but it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else. Can I help you pick out an item?”
The woman stares down at the clear plastic case that holds an array of sugary baked goods, from apple fritters to cinnamon rolls and jelly donuts to frosted cupcakes sprinkled with—sugar gravel.
She sniffs her nose in disgust as she looks over the sweet treats I'd spent all morning baking for today. At this point, I could care less if she bought anything. I just want her to move along. A man I assume is her husband walks over to her.
“What’s the hold up?”
The woman doesn’t bother acknowledging him but lifts her gaze back up to me. She points one manicured finger against the case and asks, “What are those?”
I look down to where she’s pointing. “Apple Fritters.”
“Do they have apples in them?” She scrunches her nose.
I stare at her, confused.Is she messing with me?I look at the man standing next to her, expecting him to find him with a smile on his face like he's already in on the joke. But his expression is expectant.
“Yes.” I nod. “The apple fritters have pieces of apples baked into them.”
“Are you using a tone with my wife?” the man asks.
I close my eyes and count to three, doing what I can to keep my composure with these two.
“I’m talking to you.” The man’s voice increases, and I open my eyes and look around at all the people watching me. When they fall on Beau, my cheeks burn with embarrassment.What must he think of me?
My gaze returns to the couple in front of me. She has her hands on her narrow hips, while his face turns red as the tomatoes being sold at the stand two booths away from me.
“I don’t think I’m selling anything you two are interested in. I’m going to ask you to move on, please.”
The couple's matching expressions tell me that they are not used to anyone talking to them like this, even if my tone was polite.
Uh-oh. Well, that did it.
BEAU
A commotion from Willow Holloway’s stand draws my attention and the attention of many others standing nearby. I don’t recognize the two customers yelling, so they must be visiting from another town. I don’t like the way they are talking to her. I clench my hands into fists at my side and look around at some of the other stand owners watching. We all try to look out for one another, but there's an unspoken rule that keeps Willow and me from interacting. But when no one comes forward to step in, I’m unable to hold my tongue.
“Nobody tells me when I need to leave,” the husband says, pointing one sausage finger in Willow’s face. I have to fight the urge not to reach out and snap that finger off.
