Being Neighborly by Carey Heywood Page A

us to heat one place. The cabin my parents have moved to has no electricity , but is small enough that the wood stove is all they need for the winter.
    “Want to tell me more about this new neighbor , Bess?”
    Her cheeks redden and it’s clear she knows I’m on to her. “Her name is Bethany, and Mrs. Brendal said she was a cute little thing, so I didn’t think there’d be anything wrong with you going over and being neighborly.”
    “You know I don’t like setups , Bess,” I warn.
    “It’s not a setup. I’ve never even spoken two words to the girl. I just figured, since it sounded like she was around your age, it made more sense for you to go over rather than me.”
    I cock a brow at her. “And why’s that?”
    “You need more friends your age, Beau.”
    I groan , but it in no way stops her.
    “You work your tail off on this farm. When was the last time you went out or did something just for yourself?” I start to speak but she lifts her hand cutting me off. “You are just like your father, and if I have to banish you from the farm so you’ll relax, I will.”
    My shoulders sag . I push back from the table and cross the room to pull her into a hug, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Message received, loud and clear.”
    “We all love you , Beau. We just want what’s best for you.”
    Nodding, I swipe a muffin and head for the door before talk can get any deeper than it already has. I pass Ben, one of the kids living on the farm. He’s maybe ten and likes to think he’s grown.
    “Women,” he mutters as I walk past.
    Snorting , I nod. “Tell me about it.”
    My morning passes quickly, the grumble in my gut letting me know it’s time to head inside for lunch. After spending most of my morning caring for the few animals we h ave on the farm, a quick whiff confirms I now smell like them. I head straight for the shower. Bess will want me to deliver that pie after lunch, and if I’m already clean by the time I see her again, she’ll have no reason to fuss at me.
    In no mood to impress our new neighbor , I pull on an old t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. The insoles of my work boots are wearing thin, so I pull on an old pair of sneakers before I head back downstairs. Once this pie is delivered, I’ll spend the rest of my day moving back into my cabin.
    Bess frowns when she sees what I’m wearing but silently passes the pie. No words are needed to tell me she had hoped I’d be wearing a d ress shirt and slacks. She’s lucky I’m going willingly seeing as how I’m the lamb being led to slaughter.
    My precious cargo, the pie, rides on the passenger side footwell. I can’t risk the hell that will befall me should it slide off the seat.
    Mrs. Wilson was our closest neighbor until she passed away. It’s still a five-minute drive from our farm to hers. Mrs. Wilson didn’t have as much acreage as us, but did have a pretty little pasture and stable setup to board horses. Pulling up to her house, I glance around, looking to see if our new neighbor is planning the same thing.
    The s tables don’t appear to be recently used. It’s rained the last three days, and unless she’s using the back entrance, there would be more signs of traffic. I walk around my truck to retrieve the pie from the passenger side. There’s only one other car parked by the house, a small coupe with no trailer hitch. At this point, I’m guessing no on the horse boarding.
    I amble up the front steps and rap my knuckles on the edge of the screen door. A crash, followed quickly by a yelp, has me pulling open the screen door and opening the front door.
    “Hello? My name is Beau. I live on the next farm over. Are you al l right?”
    A muffled groan coming from the back of the house has me dashing toward the kitchen, pie still in my hand. The sight I come upon catches me so off guard I almost drop it.
    There’re two bare legs sporting some hot pink flip-flops peeking out from underneath a toppled over two-legged table. How in