Page 1 of Bringing Home the Bacon
Chapter 1
Colleen
“Colleen Bedd, is that you?” a familiar voice calls out the moment I enter The Quick Lick, the only convenience store in our small farming town.
Ugh. Running into my former best friend every time I need basic necessities is anything but convenient. Especially this morning, when all I want to do is get in, get out and get on the road.
“Ginny, you saw me here on Tuesday afternoon,” I say as I inch my way toward the snack aisle. “And the Friday before that. Why do you always greet me like I’m a weary world traveler home at last?”
I may be weary, but not because I’ve been traveling. I can’t remember the last time I left the county, let alone the country. Ever since my grandad died and we learned how screwed our farm is on the financial front, I’ve been glued to my grandmother’s side. I may as well be one of the soybean stalks planted in the ground at Bedd Family Farm.
But at least they get harvested annually.
Me? My roots are permanent.
Thank god I get a temporary change of scenery today. I can’t get my butt on that bus fast enough. I just need to survive another Ginny encounter first.
Ginny abandons her perch at the cashier stand to follow me past the pretzels and potato chips. “I miss you, girl! That's all I’m trying to say. Come on, gimme the scoop. You used to tell me everything!”
I grab a bag of trail mix and toss it in my basket, some last-minute fuel for the three-hour ride to NYC. “Well, I’m heading into the city today for?—”
“The Fork Lick Elementary teacher trip. Right, right.” She sounds bored and doesn’t even take a pause before panting, “How’s Samuel?”
There it is.
She wasn’t actually asking what’s new with me. She wants to know about my brother.
Scratch what I said a moment ago about Ginny being my former best friend. That was too generous. She’s demoted. Ginny Quick shall now forever be known as “The Girl Who Dated My Hot Twin For a Hot Split Second in High School, and Has Spent the Better Part of the Last Eight Years Relentlessly Probing Me for Information on Him.”
I realize that title needs some work, but the sentiment is sound.
Damn, this shit is irritating. And insulting too. I’d like to think that having four hot brothers is the least interesting thing about me, yet that seems to be the only aspect of my life anyone ever wants to talk about.
Particularly the ladies.
If it’s not Ginny pining over her unrequited love for Sam, it’s the women at Tiddy’s Bar cackling over how Alex can “make them Udderly Creamy any day”—that’s the name of his farm—while I struggle not to lose my lunch.
Oh, and my broody brother Ethan? He screws up my social life too. One time in ninth grade, I invited a bunch of girls over to Gran’s house to work on a Shakespeare project, and we got absolutely nothing done. Why, you ask? Because they took one look at my sweaty oldest brother entering the kitchen after working the land with Grandad and spent the afternoon launching a fan club instead: Elizabethans for Ethans. That was a dark day in young Colleen’s life.
“Shh, shh, shh.” Ginny points at the speakers in the corner of the store where the first strains of an electric guitar are playing.
“I didn’t say anything,” I grumble and grab a bottle of water from the cold case.
“Jackson’s latest and greatest is playing!” She headbangs to the music.
As if I hadn’t already suffered enough being the only female Bedd sibling, Jackson—my sweet, nerdy little brother who I was counting on to stay sweet and nerdy—decided to evolve into a hot musician. His career shot into the stratosphere a few years ago, so now I am the lucky sister of three hot farmers and a world-famous rock star too.
“Oh girl, you must be sooooo proud,” Ginny croons.
I am proud. Of all of them.
But just once, I’d like someone to see me for me.
“Do you think Jackson will go to the Grammys this year?”
“I don’t know, Ginny.”
“Do you think Ethan and Alex have officially buried the hatchet?”
