The surprise, p.1
The Surprise, page 1
What’s The Surprise about?
Romeo and Juliet's families caused all sorts of problems, but the two lovers took that poison themselves, the idiots.
* * *
When Beth Ellingson meets Ethan Brooks, it's because her aunt and father are conspiring to steal the Birch Creek Ranch from the handsome young man. It wasn't the cutest way to meet, but just as roses grow best when fertilized with manure, sometimes beauty springs from tragedy.
* * *
Beth's father's definitely a stinker, and she wants to spare Ethan the misery of affiliating with him. But Ethan's never been afraid of a fight when the cause is just. Can these two young but beloved Birch Creek characters find their happily ever after? Or will the biggest surprise of their young lives derail all their plans and poison their future?
The Surprise
B. E. Baker
Copyright © 2023 by Bridget E. Baker
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For Eli,
my inspiration for Ethan
* * *
You’re a good kid.
* * *
Learn to roll with the surprises in life,
and you won’t have anything else to learn from me.
Contents
1. Beth
2. Ethan
3. Beth
4. Ethan
5. Beth
6. Ethan
7. Beth
8. Ethan
9. Beth
10. Beth
11. Ethan
12. Ethan
13. Ethan
14. Beth
15. Ethan
16. Beth
17. Beth
18. Ethan
19. Beth
20. Beth
21. Ethan
22. Beth
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by B. E. Baker
1
Beth
Some people love school.
You read about that kind of person all the time. The poor, beleaguered little kid whose parents don’t appreciate her, but who effortlessly solves sums, who reads books for fun, and who is always tutoring other people as some kind of charity effort. Sometimes the rich guy, or the athletic guy, or the handsome frat boy they’re tutoring falls in love with them. Sometimes they have some major moral dilemma, because if they want to get what they need, they have to help someone else cheat.
But the heroine of every story is inevitably a brilliant student. A gifted inventor. An epic pianist or composer. Someone truly remarkable in every way. It didn’t take me long to realize that I’m not the kind of person people write stories about.
School is boring.
School is long.
School is full of memorization of boring facts I will never use again.
I made it more than ten years before I had to learn what a kilojoule was, and I’m quite sure that if I live to be a hundred, I’ll make it that long without ever needing to use what I learned about it.
The only exception to this rule is the girl-next-door heroine whose parents are always pressuring her to do better. Her heroic attempts to learn are never quite enough, no matter how hard she tries.
Unfortunately, that’s not me either.
My dad wasn’t really that interested in pursuing a formal education, and my parents never seemed too surprised or upset that I wasn’t high caliber either. They kind of took it for granted that I’m not the kind of person who raises her hand to answer a question voluntarily.
The only person in my life who ever even suggested that I should go to college was my brilliant aunt, who seemed to sort of assume that I would be a genius, like her. I’m pretty sure the only reason she even suggested I apply was that she’d been living in another state for most of my life and hadn’t heard much about my lackluster grades or my unenthusiastic performance at, well, at everything. Like everyone else, I just sort of assumed I’d be stuck here forever.
And it’s not because I’m some kind of small-town zealot.
When I first started high school, I desperately wanted to leave Manila, population four hundred. It’s one of those places where everyone knows everyone else and always has. I’ve memorized the outside of every house. If someone changed the color of the exterior from, say, blue, to yellow? It would be the talk of the town for weeks.
I’ve met the people who live in each residence down the main road, from my third grade teacher to the bus driver to the lady who runs the True Value. I even know all the ones everyone whispers about. The people who don’t paint their shutters when they’re peeling and who burn their trash because they can’t afford to pay for pickup. Everyone talks about that stuff, even when they’ve already been talking about it for years.
Because there’s literally nothing else to do.
Thanks to my consistently underwhelming grades for the past nine years, my parents just assumed that I wouldn’t bother with the SAT, and that I wouldn’t even apply to any decent colleges. So when I signed up for the SAT myself, and when my score was halfway decent, and when my grades came up enough to be acceptable, and when I told them I had applied to UCLA, they were absolutely floored. My mom always assumed that I’d do just what she did and marry someone who would take care of me. Even though Dad’s been a big disappointment, for some reason she still thought I’d put all my eggs in some guy’s basket and hope for the best.
When Dad heard I applied for UCLA , he assumed it because some guy I liked was going there. When I told him I meant to study photography and apply to work at National Geographic, or maybe become a photographer for an online magazine or publication, he laughed in my face.
So when our principal told us there was a college class we could take on exchange through a local online university that would transfer for credit, my hand was the first one to shoot up. Maybe if I took a college class and still managed to get a decent grade, my parents would finally believe that I could handle this. Which is how I wound up signing up for a psychology class.
About a week into courses, I learned something that seemed bizarre. It was a principle called the illusory truth effect, and it’s a psychological phenomenon that explains that humans are more likely to believe something, even something untrue, if they’ve heard it over and over. Even if it’s something the subjects knew was false at the outset, if they heard it enough, they’d change their beliefs.
It sounded wrong at first, frankly, but once I looked into the experiments behind it, it blew my mind. Apparently the conditioned response that changes a lie to truth in the human mind is just as effective with adults as it is with kids.
For instance, even if someone grew up in a cattle ranching town, and they have known their entire life that a baby cow’s called a calf, but they heard over and over for a few weeks that a baby horse was called a calf instead, when they were tested, they’d either be unsure which was right, or they’d have changed their mind to believe the horse definition.
I couldn’t help thinking about how that would impact children whose parents had nothing good to say about them.
If a girl’s parents acted, for her entire life, like she was a worthless piece of trash, she would eventually believe it. And then, even if someone else told her she was great, even if they told her several times, that girl probably wouldn’t be convinced. That actual truth would need a lot of oomph to dislodge the illusory truth.
And when people think they’re worthless?
That’s also how they act.
Often those people who are dealing with situations like this, who believe they aren’t worth much, spend their entire lives looking for someone who thinks they’re special. They’ll cling to the person who tells them that, as if that person is the only person on earth who can save them.
Because they know it’s not true, but they wish terribly that it was.
Even kicked dogs want someone to pat their head. Even losers with bad grades and a difficult time focusing want a bright future. Deep down inside, we all want to be worthwhile.
We all want to be loved.
If only I’d known that I was lovable before it was too late.
2
Ethan
College is where you go when, instead of learning about life, you want to learn the things people write about life in books.
Sadly, I’ve never liked to learn that way.
When I was younger, my mom and dad would sit and read for hours sometimes. I’d come into the family room, ready to talk about my day, but they’d both have their noses tucked into books. I’d ask a few questions and they’d answer them, doing their best not to look annoyed, but I knew that I was keeping them from learning and experiencing the world in the very way they liked to do it.
I was more of a walk-around-and-pick-flowers-and-dig-holes kind of kid. I wanted to learn about the sunshine by feeling it on my face. I wanted to learn about stinging nettle by letting it bite into the skin of my palms. And I wanted to find out about chemical reactions by watching them happen in a beaker instead of reading about the results in a textbook.
So when I was facing the great high school question head on—what are you doing when you graduate?—I wanted to close my eyes and hide. Or run away. But then a slow-talking lawyer called and offered me a golden ticket. I happened to overhear a conversati on between the lawyer and my mom, where he explained that my great-uncle Jed had died, and he had left us kids a massive cattle ranch. . .if we moved out here and worked it for a year.
I knew Mom would never agree to doing something like that instead of attending a four-year college. Desk jobs like hers are more transferrable in the storms of life, as evidenced by her ability to work remotely, to support her family by tapping along on her computer in the middle of nowhere. She basically turns her thoughts into money.
Of course she wants that same kind of stability for her kids.
But by some crazy miracle, she listened to me, and we’re here, and it feels like I can breathe again. Kevin and Jeff are the nicest guys, and for months now, they’ve been showing me how to do everything patiently and calmly.
Repeatedly, too, for a lot of things.
Honestly though, lots of ranch tasks have come easily to me. Driving a tractor isn’t that different from driving a car. Fixing a fence is pretty much basic common sense, once you know how to use wire cutters, a level, and a post hole digger. I learned a lot of the things I needed to know about equipment repairs from working part time for my friend Alex in high school. He fixed up four wheelers and dirt bikes in his dad’s shop after hours, and I helped.
It may be wishful thinking on my part, but it feels like even my mom’s happier here. Actually, freer might be a better word. She always looked drained back home. But here, she’s stuck going outside every day for some task or other, from collecting eggs and refilling animal feed, to helping me trim cow hooves. She may not like a lot of the things we do, but she comes back with sun on her face, wind-blown hair, and a calmer attitude. She’s often covered in mud, too, but some people say that’s good for your skin, right?
My one complaint is that even my mom has made more friends than I have. Manila doesn’t exactly boast a happening night life, and since the two college classes I’m taking are online, there’s no way to meet kids my age who live close.
Somehow my mom’s still met tons of people, and tonight she’s hosting a dinner party. I’m not annoyed by the dinner—it’s nice she has friends—but I wish I had someone to invite over.
We all know the second that people start to arrive.
Roscoe, our border collie, loses his mind. He’s actually a pretty cool dog. He’s busy, and he’s a little emotional, but it’s nice to have a big, shaggy bouncer around to alert us of intruders. On a place this big, without some kind of alarm, people could be here for an hour before I even knew they’d arrived.
I consider hiding in my room until Mom calls us for dinner. I’m supposed to write a paper on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, and I wonder whether I could use that as an excuse.
So far, I’ve only written one line.
Romeo and Juliet’s parents were a problem, but the real idiots were the lovers themselves. At the end of the day, they’re the ones who drank poison instead of facing the future with bravery and strength.
I wonder whether it’s too obvious if I write about my dad’s death and how my mom, who loved him dearly, kept going for her kids as well as for herself. It feels like a much braver move, and frankly, a much nicer love letter to my dad than rolling over and giving up. But before I can write another single word, I hear an unfamiliar voice. A girl’s voice.
A teenage-sounding voice.
My heart beats a little faster in my chest and my breaths come quicker. Is there a girl here? Who is she? I hop to my feet and walk through my door without even thinking. Gabe and a little kid I’ve never seen before shoot past me and duck into the room I’ve just vacated, not even seeming to notice that I’m standing here. I’m pretty sure they’re about to blow up the room like a bomb went off, but for once, maybe I don’t care.
“I’ve heard good things, young lady,” my mom says.
“I’m Beth.”
Beth.
The name rolls around in my head like a marble—cold, hard, and shiny.
I start to walk through the doorway, but then I pause. Maybe I should listen to her for a moment before I charge into the room like a bull. Then I could form an impression of her before seeing her face.
“You’re a little older than my Izzy,” Mom says.
That’s promising.
“But I hope you’ll keep an eye out for her, and for Amanda’s two daughters as well.” Mom acts like they’re headed for inner city Chicago instead of a tiny town where their biggest threat is a bully taking their Cheetos. I guess you can take the mom out of Houston, but you can’t take the Houston out of the mom.
“Sure,” Beth says. “I’m sure they won’t need help finding anything. Manila High School’s not exactly large.”
Ha. She had the same thought as me.
“I could hardly believe it when I found out they had the six upper-level grades at the same school,” Mom says. “But Izzy’s happy that she and Emery will be at the same place with Whitney joining them next year.”
“You have three kids?” Beth asks. “Is that right?”
Three kids? This feels like an auspicious time to make my entrance. I stroll through the doorway. “Four.” I finally see the face that matches the voice I’ve been listening to like a dehydrated castaway on a desert island.
I can’t decide whether she’s really as beautiful as she looks, or whether I’m just starved for teenage attention.
Her hair’s just a little bit curly, right at the ends, and it frames a heart shaped face with huge, almost anime-like eyes. They’re a dark, soft brown, and the blonde tips of her hair make them look even warmer, like the summer sunshine on a hay field.
Oh, no. I’m worried my brain’s shutting down. I need to say something quickly, or she’ll think I’m a half-wit.
“I’m Ethan,” I say. Good. My name. I remembered my own name. It’s a start. “I’m the black sheep of my family.”
Black sheep? Can I only speak in farm cliches, now? And why black? Where did that come from? I’m not a bad boy. Although, I did fight with Mom over attending her version of college. Maybe that’s what my brain meant.
“More like a black ox,” Mom says.
Ah, she’s saying I’m big. That makes me look good. Girls like big guys, right? And now I’m preening like an idiot. I need to make a joke. “But I know what noise a sheep makes,” I say. Then I baa. Like I think I’m Old MacDonald. My utter lack of social interaction with people my age has broken my brain. “What sound would an ox make?”
Beth should be cringing.
She should be looking at me with a scrunched nose and a dangling mouth, wondering how stupid this new kid really is.
Only, she’s not, and I realize something.
She’s stuck on the same desert as me.
There can’t be many teenage guys here, and that means I’m a tall glass of water in the middle of nothing. That’s the only explanation for her expression. She’s giggling.
“Oxen complain about everything and break stuff all the time,” Izzy says from the kitchen. “And they don’t go to college like they should.”
“Hey.” Sisters suck. Why would she out me like that, seconds after I meet someone new? “I’m taking online classes.”
“We all know. You haven’t gone a single day without whining about them,” Mom says.
It’s like they’ve all had meetings where they planned to make me look idiotic the second a teenage girl shows up.
“I can’t wait for college,” Beth says. “Like, I’m literally counting down the days.”
“You don’t say.” Mom’s beaming now. “Well, come right in, Beth. How do you feel about handsome oxen?”
