Educated

by Charles, Colleen

  “Who do you think did it?” Jake asks, hitting one of the steers on his neon pink rump. A tail flick is all my friend gets in return.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I stalk around my steer and narrow my eyes. “I know who did this. There’s only one person with the balls to do this.” I wave a hand through the air in disgust as my steer turns his liquid brown eyes on me.

  “She doesn’t have balls.” Jake chuckles and at my glare, whistling low. “But her balls are more like chesticles. And really nice ones at that. I don’t understand why she hates you so much. You guys used to be so tight.”

  I know why she hates me. But the reason why is so damn embarrassing I’ve kept it close to my mohair vest. Not even my dad or my best friend know what happened so many years ago to turn Ashlynn Taylor against me.

  If she sees me coming, she walks across the street.

  If she’s forced to talk to me, her eyes flash the sparks of a five-alarm fire.

  So even though she painted my herd with vegan slang in ten shades of neon, I understand it’s a punishment I most likely deserve.

  But it does give me a valid reason to talk to her. One that I won’t let pass me by. I miss her. I miss what we had and what I hoped we always would. It’s been more than a year since I’ve had a kind word from her or a gaze that didn’t include razor-sharp daggers. Not since two Christmases ago when I just happened to run into her on Main Street while she was home on college break.

  “Yeah, I guess we did. But kids grow up and times change. Ever since she opened that damn coffee shop catering to executives and people with limited mental capacities, she hasn’t been the same Ash that we once knew. After she came back from that fancy college in NYC, it’s like she never even heard of Montana.”

  Jake shoves his cowboy hat further down over his forehead. His family owns the ranch next to ours. But I can’t really call him my neighbor when spreads out here can be hundreds or even thousands of acres. It takes me almost twenty minutes in my Dodge to get to Jake’s house. Since graduation, he’s been living in the bunkhouse with the ranch cowboys. Says it puts hair on a man’s chest to learn the operation from the ground up and work his ass off doing it. “Limited mental capacity?”

  “You heard me. Cream comes from cows. Not fucking peas, coconuts, almonds, and marijuana plants. That ain’t dairy. A plant will never, ever be an animal. And animals taste good. Would you rather have a juicy, medium-rare porterhouse, or a floret of broccoli?”

  “I’m not sure what’s more horrifying. That they make weed milk or that you just used the word floret in a sentence.” Jakes laughs at his own joke with a loud guffaw and a slap to his Wranglers.

  “Hemp milk. It’s just a fancy word for weed.”

  “Sh-” He swallows back a curse word I know tempts the tip of his tongue. But he promised his girlfriend, Maria, he’d mind his words and his manners. “Well, give me full fat cream in my cup of morning Joe any day of the week. Ash and her granola friends can keep their weed milk. I know it’s wrong since we’re friends and all, but I avoid her place like the plague. Unless Maria demands a mocha chocha skim weed milk latte with extra weed foam, I don’t go there. Even to see Ash.”

  An image of her floats in front of my eyes, stopping me before I can stomp one more booted foot into the dirt in annoyance. Long chestnut hair cascading in waves down her shapely back. Green eyes that sparkle like emeralds or flash fire like a summer storm whipped up over the mountains. Perfect heart-shaped ass. Tits that would fit my hands. A face that could stop traffic on the sidewalk of any town in the USA.

  Shit.

  Why does she do this to me?

  My brain screams at me to stop fantasizing about something that will never happen, but hope teases me it’s still possible. As a couple, we fit. At least we used to. But she friend-zoned me during Eric Miller’s twelfth birthday party when we secretly played spin the bottle, and I stayed in my place.

  At least until…

  If I really wanted to, I could make amends for that time I threw caution to the wind at Jake’s high school graduation barn party and kissed her on a wave of yearning fueled by Jim Beam. I can still feel her full lips moving underneath mine. Her supple body bending into me like a willow accommodating a warm breeze. She wanted me.

  She surrendered.

  Right up until the moment she slapped my face and told me she’d never speak to me again. She told me I’d ruined everything with my stupid raging hormones. Then she ran off to college in the big city without so much as a goodbye and all I would ever hear were snippets of her life from my dad or in church on Sunday. And those tidbits weren’t even close to being enough.

  I couldn’t even stalk her on social media because she blocked me and made all her profiles private. After what I did, I couldn’t even be her friend on the internet.

  I still don’t understand how one little mistaken lip-lock between friends could cause such raging emotions in one tiny woman. If she hated me and our simple life so much, why did she come back here and bring her cityfied ways with her? She of all people should know she’s not going to reform any Montana cowboys with her all plant morals.

  But she still tries, and from what dad tells me, her café does better than anyone ever thought it would. Especially with the local womenfolk.

  A nearby steer heaves a sigh and turns around to look at ‘meat sucks’ painted on his flank in blinking Sharpie yellow. Just as a few drops of spittle reach my feet, he lifts his tail and delivers a huge, steaming cow pie to the grass.

  I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from tugging upward. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I think of this damn prank. And veganism in general.”

  Jake pastes on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good thing no one but you and your dad and your hands are gonna have to look at this herd. She’s so far up PETA’s colon I’m surprised I can even hear her spouting her non-meat drivel. Never thought our local good girl would go so bad.”

  But did she? I sigh and a pang lingers in my chest, feeling like a punishment for sins gone by. If I really think about it and whip up some ghosts of the past, I realize that Ash always seemed like she didn’t belong in Oakville. Like she had a broken wing but as soon as it mended, she was going to spread them and take flight to places far, far away.

  And I didn’t want that. I wanted her to stay. By kissing her, I hoped our friendship would bloom into something more. When I think back to how much I missed her while she was gone, I want to drop to my knees and moan.

  “As long as she’s happy, Jake, we should be happy for her. But that’s not gonna stop me from taking a little trip to town to have a talk with her. She needs to stay in her corner, and I’ll stay in mine. My herd is seriously off-limits. If she wants to paint something with her plants only propaganda, she can do it, but not on private property. She’s trespassing, and any Montana born and raised woman would understand that.”

  Jake scrubs a hand down his face. “Now that confrontation I’d like to see. Care to bring a friend along for the ride?”

  I shoulder bump him. “If you value your life, you’ll stay away. You know how she gets when she’s mad. Madder than a barefoot centipede on the pavement in August.”

  “Yup. She’s worse than a cloud of angry hornets. Remember that time you hurt her feelings and she kicked you in the back of the knees so hard you face-planted into the manure pile?”

  I stare at him through narrowed eyes. Last time she got angry she used my heart as her personal pinata. I’m not sure I can survive another round with the bat.

  “How could I forget? Took three showers before I smelled almost normal.”

  “When are you gonna face the devil?” he asks, walking back toward his truck.

  We both stop once we reach the vehicles. “My daddy always says there’s no time like the present.

  Jake swings the door open and puts his booted foot on the metal step. “Daddy Wolfe also always says that there’s none so blind as those who will not see. I’m not sure you’r
e not dealing with a blind woman. Figuratively, that is.”

  I give a shove to the small of his back. “Pretty sure I’m not taking you literally. Haven’t made that mistake since junior high when you told me if I made a date with my right hand, I’d go blind.”

  Jake slips behind the wheel and fires up the engine. His Ram 1500 purrs like a satisfied kitten. The noise brings Ash to my mind again. I wonder what sound she makes when she’s satisfied? I wonder who was her first when it damn well should have been me.

  I hate that nameless, faceless motherfucker.

  “That’s one date where you might actually not get stood up.”

  I roll my eyes and slam the door shut. I’ve got a date with the devil and slow feet don’t eat. Just another thing Daddy Wolfe drilled into my brain from the time I could pull on my own boots.

  Chapter Two

  Ashlynn

  I swipe up an invisible spot on my white marble countertops with the corner of my towel. Veins of gray twist through the hard material along with a little sprinkle of sparkles here and there. The time right after lunch slows down for Mountain Perk and only a few customers mill around, most enjoying a book or working on their laptops.

  “Wanna share a blueberry Danish with me?” My bestie, Lucy McEntire, hustles behind the counter, making a fresh pot of dark roast. “It’s the last one. I know it’s your favorite. And you need your sustenance after… you know.”

  Her golden eyebrows waggle and she shoots me that knowing look that only your best friend since grade school can get away with.

  I inhale, the yummy smell of percolating coffee hitting me square in the chest. Ever since I was little and my nana used to brew coffee all day long as she watched All My Children, screaming at Erica Kane on the TV, I’ve been attached to the smell. Nana passed away five years ago, and I miss her every single day. That woman got me like no other. How I can be a Montana cowgirl and a social liberal all at the same time.

  You don’t have to give up your roots to take on a cause.

  I heave a sigh. Danish, Chia Pets, pink cowboy boots with sparkles, and a certain man who shall remain nameless under penalty of death might be my downfall.

  “You don’t have to twist my arm,” I say, pointing toward the beautiful glass display case where the perfect bit of sweet treat sits there, calling my name.

  She makes a show of walking over to the case, fetching the Danish and cutting it in half. After Lucy hands me my half, I sink my teeth into it, a piece of frosting lodging itself on my upper lip. Just when I flick my tongue out to capture the sugary particle, the bell over the door tinkles and the floor gives way underneath my feet.

  No.

  Not today.

  He wouldn’t dare.

  With a jump of annoyance, or maybe something else, I grab a napkin and swipe it across my lips, setting the remainder of my Danish on the counter. My stomach flips over, all appetite fleeing the scene.

  He glances around, wipes his boots on the bristly doormat emblazoned with the word ‘welcome’. One strong arm, bulging with muscles reaches up and plucks his hat from his head, unleashing a full head of black hair ripe for running fingers through. That cowlick he’s had since I’ve known him falls over his creased forehead, defying gravity and refusing to behave. Kind of like the man that wayward hair is attached to.

  He nods at Mitch Wilson, a fellow rancher, who drinks strong black coffee and pours over his ledgers in a leather wingback by the fire. His eyes scan the café until they land on me. Piercing, haunting blue orbs that I used to fall into every chance I got.

  No more.

  My desire to fall into the depths of Ben Wolfe died the day he went and ruined everything.

  He walks up to the counter with that cocky stride as if the weight of the world didn’t lay between us. A battle of wills ensues as we both hold our breath, not wanting to be the one who breaks the stilted silence. Lucy stands off to the side, her hand holding the Danish suspended in mid-air. She looks like one of those people doing the mannequin challenge. Her eyes widen and her nostrils flare.

  “Can I help you?” My voice drips sarcasm and rancor and venom all in four little polite words.

  He steps back a pace, but his eyes drink me in like I’m a fresh batch of Tupelo honey. “I think you can.”

  I make myself busy wiping my spotless counter again. With a flourish, I snatch up the half-eaten portion of Danish and make a show of tossing it in the trash. “Seems I lost my appetite.”

  A wave of grief washes over me as I wait for him to tell me what I can help with, even though I already know. But maybe it’s not grief at all. The emotion settles into my chest, writhing and throbbing. I try to sweep it away, but I can’t. It’s taken up residence inside my heart. Because grief is just love with no place to go.

  “Know any vegans who have it in for black Angus steers?” he asks, cocking a slim hip and resting it against the counter. All that does is push his crotch forward and draw my gaze. Before I can stop it, it lands but then I snap it back up only in time to see his full lips tug upward. His eyes dance with mischief and something else.

  Something that’s not hatred. Although that’s all I feel for him.

  I hate him. I really do.

  A buzzer sounds and Lucy spins around. “Um… I hear the oven going off. Toodle-doo. Good to see you, Ben.”

  He lifts a massive paw in a wave and then turns his attention back to me. “You haven’t answered. Now, who do I know who would want to trespass on private property, break the law, and then paint my prized steers full of bullshit sayings that go and hurt their little cow feelings? You should have seen ‘em, hanging their heads low and bellowing.”

  My bored gaze sweeps the room. “Don’t know. Maybe you should ask around?”

  He leans in close. Too close. Every cell in my body picks up his special scent that’s half spice, half citrus and all man. My cells start to fire and my panties flood with moisture I refuse to acknowledge. Dammit. Damn him and everything he does to me. I thought I outgrew it.

  I was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  And all the realization does is make me want to hurt him. He can suffer in the present for the pain of the past.

  He stills as if giving a voice to what’s crackling between us will bring it into the light. And once it’s been illuminated, we can’t shove it back into the darkness.

  Because we both know this isn’t about steers. Or being vegan. This is about us.

  “Hey, Ash,” Mitch says, holding his mug in the air. “Can you freshen up my dark roast.”

  “Sure thing, Mitch.”

  I turn my back on Ben and hustle about grabbing the coffee pot and removing the physical barrier between me and him. All that does is remind me how tall and wide he is, all bulging muscle and sculpted limbs. A flush lands on my cheeks as I remember how many nights I used to lay in my pink canopy bed thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Touch him. Until one day I found out before I felt ready. He snatched control away from me.

  Once I reach the fireplace, I pour a healthy serving into Mitch’s mug, while gracing the older man with my best smile. I’ve always liked Mitch. He lives a few ranches over from my family’s.

  “Thanks, Ash.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I make another show of stalking back to the counter and planting myself behind it. “Found your steer hating vegan yet?” I ask, lifting one eyebrow in the air. “Maybe they’re out at the Broken Bottle tying one on.”

  He jabs a thumb toward the back room. “You. Me. Now. Tell Lucy to get her skinny behind out here and tend these customers.”

  “Make me.”

  My body bristles with anger and my eyes shoot daggers at him. I should have remembered his stubborn streak because he hops over the counter in one giant leap and grabs me by the waist like a sack of potatoes. On his way to the kitchen, he whizzes right by a wide-eyed Lucy.

  “Get out there and tend the customers,” he tosses over a broad shoulder. “We have perso
nal business.”

  I try to forget about how hard he feels against my body. Everywhere we connect, I sizzle. Grasping my anger with both hands, I pound my fists against his thigh, hitting pay dirt on his right kneecap when he yelps. Old football injury he got in high school.

  “Knock it off, Ash,” he growls, giving my petite body a few shakes for good measure. Once we reach the walk in, he puts me on my feet but remains between me and the door so I can’t escape. “This should cool you down. Christ, you’re like a beautiful rose tempting me from a bed of thorns. Quit acting like a petulant child.”

  I pull myself up to my full height and glare. “Don’t you dare call me a child, you overgrown lout!”

  He runs a hand through his black hair, causing his cowlick to stick straight up. “Dammit. Why does this always happen? Why can’t we have a civil conversation just one time? Why can’t we go back to being… friendly?”

  Because I never, ever wanted to be your friend. I wanted more. But you didn’t. And just when I was ready to spread my wings and fly, you changed your mind. And I hate you for making me choose.

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  Copyright

  Educated by Colleen Charles ©2017 All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.