Beach Season Read Free Page A

hundreds of times. I was never thrown, never intimidated, never embarrassed, even when the judge was threatening to charge me with contempt of court, even with obstinate juries or screaming opposing counsel. No, never, but this man .
    “Do you have brothers and sisters named for the months of the year?” What an inane question. No! No, he didn’t . You and your odd MacKenzie clan are the only ones who are all named after months!
    He chuckled, deep and masculine. “I have two brothers and two sisters. Their names are Shane, Jessica, Rick, and Sandy. Dull compared to yours. Your parents must have enjoyed the months of June, August, September, and March.”
    I stumbled a bit on a rock, and he caught my arm. This time, I avoided locking eyes with him so as not to be possessed by his handsome magic. “I’m sure they did enjoy those months. Every month is a happy month for my parents.”
    “That’s a rare thing to hear. Tell me about them.”
    Okay! I could do that! A normal conversation! “They met when they were sixteen and ran off and got married after they graduated from high school. My oldest sister arrived a year later, then my next sister, me, and my brother. We’re all eighteen months apart, give or take a few months.”
    “Young parents.”
    “Oh yes, and they’re way cooler than any of their kids. They’re ex-hippies.”
    “Outstanding.”
    “Yes, we had an outstanding childhood. Different. Wild. Nomadic.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “You want to know about my childhood?” I pushed a strand of wet hair off my face.
    “Yes, I do.” Those eyes were sincere. I was being pulled into a green pool, only the pool was warm and sexy and had big shoulders. Look away, June. Look away! Remember, you do not believe in lust at first sight.
    I shook my head to clear my burgeoning passion. “My sister August was born on a commune in California. My next sister, September, was born in the back of our VW van. I was born in a hippie colony here in Oregon. There’s some difference, not much, from a commune. My brother was born about fifteen feet over the U.S. border.”
    “Fifteen feet?”
    “About that. We had been in Mexico, living on a farm with other Americans, but my nine-months-along mom decided at the last minute that she wanted March born on American soil, like the rest of us, so they drove through the night. My brother was born on the other side of the customs building.”
    “That must have been quite a ride.”
    “It was. I remember it. We packed up the van on the fly. We were all wearing tie-dye shirts and sandals. We also had three mutts, two cats, and a bird who flew loose in the van. We had a box of apples and a box of bananas. I slept on the floor of the van between my sisters with our dog, Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death, asleep over my legs. Our other dog, Flower Child, snored away on a seat, and the third dog, Fleas, because he had fleas when we found him, my sister was using as a pillow.”
    “You are making my childhood sound as boring as heck. I can barely stand it.”
    “We were traveling gypsies in a VW bus.” I drew my arms tight around my freezing, shaking body, the rain relentless.
    “So, your brother made it to the U.S. border?”
    “Yes, he did. My poor mom. No drugs at all during childbirth. She wanted it natural. All of us were natural. My father grabbed two tartans out of the back of the van for her to lie on.”
    “Tartans?”
    “From Scotland. Our ancestors are from Scotland, and our family takes our love of Scotland seriously. Afterward, my father’s face was whiter than my mom’s. I remember my sisters and I had to stay in the van and there were a bunch of men in uniform helping my mom, and all of a sudden one of those men was holding our brother, March, who was screaming his head off, but, I’m sure, delighted to have been born in America.”
    He laughed again.
    My, what a seductive and deep and gravelly laugh. My!
    “And after he was born?”
    “A doctor had been