Page 9 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

I step out of my boots, leaving them at the back door. Hanging my keys on the rack in the mudroom, I slowly make my way through the kitchen and turn on the lights directly in my path. I trudge through the quiet house to the last door at the end of the hallway. My bedroom door silently swings open as I head to my bed. It feels good to be back. I sit on the edge of the bed, made from reclaimed barn wood. Removing my socks and shirt, I take them to the hamper on my way to my en suite bathroom.

The huge walk-in shower calls to me, so I quickly finish undressing and turn on the water. Before the water has time to get warm, I quickly step inside and lean my head against the raw stone wall. The water runs down my back for a few peaceful moments while I take deep breaths. Reaching for the soap, I lather up, washing the long car ride down the drain. With my eyes closed, all I can see behind my eyelids are a pair of turquoise eyes. I quickly finish, turning the water off a little aggressively. With my towel slung low around my hips, I exit the shower and enter my closet. Looking around quickly, I decide jeans and a Henley will do just fine.

I throw my boots back on and exit my house. Making my way back toward Ingrid’s yard, I look up into the night sky, marveling at the endless sea of stars beginning to dance in the lowlight of dusk.

As I enter her gate, I’m greeted by a wet nose and fluffy head. His eyes look at me, full of happiness. I know I made the right decision bringing him to the ranch. Callum comes up, gently bumping my shoulder. I glance over at him, and with a knowing grin, he hands me a plate with ribs, coleslaw, and roasted corn.

Looking around the fire, I see everyone else already has their plate filled and is busy eating. I take the plate with a nod of thanks and make my way over to my favorite log. It fits my frame and long legs perfectly, which I think Ingrid planned when she said she found it just for Callum and me. Callum’s 6’3” frame, like mine, always has a problem getting stuck in a short chair.

I pick up a rib first and take a large bite. Callum’s grilling recipes aren’t adventurous, but they are consistently delicious. I swear, if Callum weren’t so dedicated to our ranch, he would be a pit master at some barbeque restaurant. Luckily, we are ableto keep his creative cooking energy alive with our Saturday night barbeque. He loves it as much as we do.

After making sure everyone has food and the grills are shut off, Callum saunters over and sits down next to me with his plate balancing in his palm. I bump his knee with mine to get his attention. “This is amazing as usual, man,” I say.

His smile is infectious as he takes in everyone’s moans of enjoyment for his cooking. His gaze lingers on Ingrid as she licks her fingers clean. I watch him shake his head as if to clear his thoughts, and then he quickly averts his eyes and mutters, “Thanks, I enjoy it, too. Before I forget, I put our application in for the summer baseball league again this year. The admin I talked to said games would start mid-July and go through the end of September. We have a full team this year. I added your brother just in case he can make it to a few games.”

“Perfect. I was planning to ask if you’d heard whether there were enough teams interested in playing again this summer. The last two years were awesome,” I say, grinning at him.

“I honestly don’t know how much longer my knees will be able to last as catcher, though. How’s your arm doing with throws from third to first?” he asks, rubbing his knees with phantom aches.

“I think I have a few years left in my shoulder. At least I’m not pitching. Axel can have that job all he wants. But sometimes I think he’s bionic. He never tires,” I say, glancing toward our former Navy SEAL, who looks relaxed as the life of the party.

“Who knows, maybe he is, and we just don’t know it,” Callum jokes, and I shake my head as I toss my napkin on my empty plate.

As dinner wraps up, Axel brings out the bag of s'more supplies, and everyone takes their time putting theirmarshmallows on their sticks, getting graham crackers prepped with chocolate chunks, and chatting about whether they are going for golden, burnt, or just layering.

I wave away a stick when Trent tries to offer me one. “I had too much junk food on the trip back, man. I think I will watch for now,” I say.

Glancing toward Ingrid, I watch as she rotates her stick to get the perfect golden crust on her marshmallow. Since we were kids, she has always been incredibly patient at roasting her marshmallow. I layer. I always have. Stick it in the fire and let it flame. Once it's ablaze, blow it out. Pull off the outer layer and eat. Then do it all over again until there is no marshmallow left. Callum and I have competitions to see who can pull the most layers off one marshmallow. We have both tied at eight layers.

I look across the fire and see Callum sitting right next to Ingrid, who is grinning as he shoves the third layer of the night into his mouth. I holler, “Hey, Ingrid, when do we get to hear you play your fiddle?” Both Ingrid and Callum yank their gaze toward me. His eyes are sharp and annoyed, but he quickly shutters his expression. Her face flashes pink with a blush before she clears her throat and says, “Let me finish this golden beauty of a s'more, then I will fill the night air with your favorite sound.” I smirk and look at the ground, trying not to laugh.

A few minutes later, I hear the distinct click of a fiddle case opening. By the time I adjust my position and look up, Ingrid is already tightening her bow. Everyone stops their conversations, and the sounds of darkness sing their melody. I close my eyes to wait and am rewarded with the first note of her favorite song by Earnest Ball, “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” My own eyes shoot open. By the third measure, my vision is entranced by the dancing fire as I envision Irish eyes of liquid blue flames dancing back at me.

Chapter 10

Aislinn

Sunday, June 11

Ifeel a gentle shake of my shoulder.

“Wakey, wakey, darlin’,” Leo coos at me, and I fight the urge to pretend to be asleep for another thirty minutes.

Without opening my eyes, I try to see if I can determine the time by the light filtering past my eyelids. To no avail, I admit defeat and slowly peel open my eyelids.

On a screamed gasp, I shout, “Cheese on a cracker! Leo, what the hell is on your face?” My heartbeat is pounding against my ribcage from the adrenaline rush of being scared by his appearance.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he sighs, gently patting his face. “They are these gold face pads that are supposed to reduce wrinkles. I put one on my forehead, one under each eye, one on each smile line, and I’m set. You go to sleep, wake up, and when you take them off, bam, soft and luscious skin!”

“Leo, for the love of all that is good, the next time you wake me up, take them off before you leave your bedroom. You look like you should be the Golden High Priestess fromGuardians of the Galaxy,” I say.

His face stretches into an awkward smile. Parts of his face are immovable as his teeth slowly appear between his lips. I’m not sure whether to shudder or laugh. He exclaims, “Is she the one that meets Thor? If she is, then I would gladly be the Golden High Priestess any day!”

Okay, laugh it is. I burst out laughing. “Yeah, maybe if I got to be with Thor, I would wear the golden face pad things too. But I don’t think Thor was in that movie. Just Chris Pratt.”

Leo sighs. “Well, Chris Pratt is not a terrible consolation. Oh wait, that movie is coming back to me. Didn’t the gold people drive cool spaceships?”

I chuckle. “I really don’t remember. I just know Nebula was amazing, but I still can’t believe she is the same actress who plays in—”

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