Breaking Fences (The Breaking Series) (16 page)

I pressed my lips closed, but the question jumped out anyway. “Why?”

“Because where he lives is connected to your previous question, why he’s still here. Again, if you want to know those details, you gotta ask him.” He stood, put the waste in the garbage, and halted by my side. “Let’s get back to work.”

For the next couple of hours, I helped Tom all over the ranch. Around four, I stopped to rest a little. Although, I rested while humming a country song and brushing Midnight’s coat. My mind was on Garrett, of course, and everything I had learned about him.

Poor guy. It must not have been easy living with his father’s family and being pushed aside.

Tom stopped in the main aisle and narrowed his eyes at me. “I don’t get you.”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve heard that.”

“The few things I have heard about Brazil involve soccer, samba, and women. I guess there’s more to it than that.”

“Much more.”

“You’re not much different than us. I mean, I thought Brazilians would be different from Americans. Besides your accent, sometimes I forget you’re not from here.”

“We’re different, but I guess that when living here, a person starts to change. I guess that happens to any foreigner in any country.”

“How different is it?”

“Too many things to actually list, but like here, each state has its own traditions and culture. People have different accents and manners. I’m from the south, and we are one of the proudest states in Brazil. We always say our men are the most manly and fearless, and our women are the prettiest and most intelligent.” I shrugged. “Normal state rivalry.”

“I can definitely attest to the beauty of one woman from the south of Brazil.” Tom winked.

I shook my head. “Careful, old man. I’m going to think you’re a creep.”

He laughed before walking in the tack room. Talking about my country made me miss it. An idea bloomed in my mind and excitement bubbled inside me.

I kissed Midnight’s muzzle. “I hope they like it.”

***

I looked at the speedometer, careful not to go over the speed limit too much. Excitement filled me and it was hard. I wanted to sink my foot on the pedal and get to the ranch right this instant.

I parked my SUV beside Tom’s old truck at 6:56 a.m. I hopped out of my car, and skipping, I grabbed the basket from the passenger seat and entered the stable.

“Someone is in a good mood,” Tom said from his office.

I joined him inside. “I am.”

He jerked his chin to my arms. “What’s in the basket?”

“Brazilian things.”

His brows arched up. “Like what?”

I placed the basket on his desk and pulled the plaid towel from over it. “Like food.”

The sweet smell from the basket spread almost instantly, and Tom practically moaned. I pushed some of the towering paper aside and began spreading everything on his desk. The sound of tires rolling on the stones outside brought butterflies to my stomach. I didn’t know why I was worried about what Garrett would think of all this, but I was. I kept organizing our banquet while hearing his approaching footsteps.

Garrett halted by the door and inhaled. “Is this heaven?”

His gaze went to the goodies on Tom’s desk before settling on me. He wore his worn hat, a light blue and white plaid shirt, faded jeans, and his brown boots. His hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb this morning, and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.
Meu Deus
, he was something. Something that made my heart beat faster, something that brought lust with full force into my veins.

I cleared my throat and broke the stare. “Close.” I waved him in. “Yesterday—”

“You were here yesterday?” He took two large steps and stood by my side.

“All day,” Tom said.

I thought Garrett would comment on that, but when he shut his mouth, I continued, “Yesterday, Tom asked me a few things about Brazil, so I thought about showing you both a few things instead.” I pointed to a bowl with bread rolls. “These are called
cacetinho
. Wait, that’s only in my state. In other states, it’s called
cervejinha
.” I pointed to the next thing. “This is
goiabada
. It’s made from a fruit. You guys call it guava, I think. It’s sweet and we like to eat it with cheese. Next—” I pointed to another bread-like roll. “—is
Pão de Queijo
, or cheese bread.” I pointed to the next plate. “These are called
sonho
. It’s Portuguese for dream. They are made with a fried sweet dough and filled with, in this case,
doce de leite
.” I picked a closed jar of
doce de leite
. “It has the same consistency of peanut butter, I guess.”

“What’s that?” Tom pointed to the thermos beside the basket.

“That’s hot water for the
chimarrão
.”

“Chima-what now?” Tom asked, wrinkling his nose.

I chuckled, reaching for the
cuia
inside the basket. “This is called
cuia.
We fill it with this herb.” I grabbed a packet from inside the basket. I opened the packet and filled half of the
cuia
with the green herb under curious surveillance. I tilted the
cuia
to the side, covering its opening with my hand. Carefully, I took my hand off, leaving the
cuia
slanted, placed the
bomba
, which was like a metal straw, and filled it with hot water. “Now, we leave it to soak a little, because the herb will absorb half of the water.” I dropped the
cuia
on the desk. “The ones I bought came with a flat base, otherwise I would need a stand for it.”

“And then what?” Garrett asked.

“You drink it.”

“Is it legal?” Tom asked, examining the herb.

I chuckled. “Yes. It’s an herb, like a tea herb, though this one is bitter, not sweet.”

“Bitter tea?” Tom asked.

The water was already gone, so I filled it up and drank the first one. Then I filled it again and offered it to them. “Who is going to try it?” They looked at each other. “
Meu Deus
, you two are babies. Just try it.”

Garrett took it from me. “I just drink it through here?”

“That’s called
bomba
, and yes, you drink it through there.”

He shook his head once and took a long sip. His nose wrinkled and he pulled back. “Oh, God, this is bitter.”

I laughed. “Nobody likes it the first time they drink it. Nor the second. But it gets better. And I guess it’s a matter of getting used to it. My parents always drank it twice a day. Growing up, I started drinking it with them. Nowadays, I barely drink it, but I miss it.”

“Interesting,” Tom said.

Garrett finished it and passed the
cuia
. “I don’t want any more.”

I filled the cuia with more water and offered it to Tom.

He raised his hand in defense. “No, ma’am, I’ll wait until the next time.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I said. “Now, the songs.” I let go of the
chimarrão
. I pulled a small speaker from the basket, plugged it into the wall, and connected my iPhone to it. “The songs you’re about to hear are from the south of Brazil.” I picked a magazine from the basket. “And these are the typical clothes we use while performing theses dances.” I opened the magazine and showed them a gaucho with
bombacha
—a type of pants—a shirt, thick belt, boots, hat, and scarf. Beside the gaucho was a
prenda
in a dress with a full skirts and lots of frills and laces. Her hair was tied with a bow or flower. Tom and Garrett repeated the words
gaucho
and
prenda
several times, testing them out. It was almost funny. “Depending on which town you visit, you may see people wearing these kind of clothes on a regular basis. Especially men.” I approached Garrett and held his hands. “Ready?”

His brows shot to his forehead. “For?”

I smiled. “Dancing.”

“Um, I don’t know this dance.”

“I’m gonna teach you.” I put his right hand on my waist and my right hand in his left hand. “Hit play, Tom.”

He did and the rhythm reverberated through the walls.

Tom tapped his foot to the beat of the song. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“It’s two steps to your left, one to your right. Meanwhile, we circle the dance floor.”

“What dance floor?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. “Just do it.” I tugged his arm and we started moving. The first few steps, he was too slow and tried to pick it up on the last second. He looked down at our feet, too worried about space, rhythm, feet, and all that. “Hey, Garrett.” I squeezed his hand, and he finally looked at me. I slid his hand from my waist to my back, making his body touch mine. “Relax.”

His eyes on mine, he nodded and then took a deep breath. After ten seconds, he was visibly better and didn’t feel too tense.

He gave me a half-grin. “This isn’t too bad.” Becoming bolder, he took me for a wider spin on our fake dance floor. “So, people listen to this kind of music down there?”

“Only in the south and it’s not many. I only listen to it on Sunday mornings, when my father likes to put it on and sit on the porch with his
chimarrão
before breakfast. And on special occasions like balls and such.”

“But everyone knows how to dance?”

“In the south, most do. It’s like samba. Every Brazilian girl knows how to samba, even if she’s not a fan of it.”

“You aren’t a fan of it?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

He tilted his head. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever stop learning new things about you.”

I smiled. “Possibly never.”

Garrett spun me under his arm, then held me close and tipped me back. He angled his torso to me, putting his face inches from mine. His hazel eyes sparkled and my breath caught. “That’s kinda exciting,” he whispered. He pulled me up, keeping his head close to my neck. I heard a sharp inhale. Was he sniffing me? “I like your perfume.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, stunned.

Tom cleared his throat. “So, how about we actually eat all this food?”

Tom’s words broke the spell. I stepped back, away from Garrett’s arms. He watched me with a knot between his brows.
Meu Deus
, what wouldn’t I give to know what was going on his mind right now.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my attention to Tom. “Yeah, sure.”

Chapter Fourteen

Midterms were harder than I thought they would be. Maybe it was because my mind was so scattered, or that I didn’t study as much as I should. I had always been a good student, but I guess being away from college for over a year had made me lazy.

I had six exams and two massive papers due between Monday and Friday; I felt like I didn’t have a breather. I also didn’t get a breather from all the crazy guys hitting on me. Seriously, what was up with that? If I were paranoid, I would think it was Audrey’s doing. She was paying them to come bother me. However, that would be too insane.

By the time Saturday morning came, I was more than eager to get to Rock Hill.

As usual, I took breakfast to Tom and Garrett. They teased me it wasn’t the Brazilian stuff; they wanted more. I promised I would buy more soon. Or, if they found me a range, I could cook for them.

After lunch, I sat behind Tom’s desk and sorted through his papers. This morning I had asked him if he would like to have all the paperwork organized. When he said yes, I told him I didn’t mind organizing the mess for him if he didn’t mind me seeing the paperwork—some of them were bound to have the price of things Mr. Hudson wouldn’t be too happy with strangers get a glimpse of.

“I trust you,” Tom said.

An hour later, I had the paperwork organized in stacks separating them by subject. The next step was to organize them by dates—the ones that were from a long time ago and could go into the file cabinet, the new ones that needed to stay within reach, and the future ones, which needed action. In addition, several things needed to be entered into the computer system, and some payments were past due. I was sure money wasn’t the problem here, only disorganization.

My estimate was that I would be working here twenty-four-seven for the next three weeks.

I was separating the overdue bills so I could show them to Tom later when my phone rang. I fished it from inside my jeans pocket and glanced at the screen before answering.

“Hi, Leo,” I said, smiling.

“Hi,
irmãzinha
.”

I shook my head. I was born two minutes after him, but still he insisted on calling me his little sister. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much. Practicing, going to tournaments, winning.”

“Spending quality time with me,” Hannah shouted into the speaker.