I stand and make my way over to the woman who dances through my head only a million times a day. She’s over at the coffee maker, cleaning it out and dumping the old filter into the trash. She’s wearing tight skinny jeans that show off her slim legs and round ass and ends at her feet in battered white sneakers, it’s topped off with a black shirt from the cafe that all the employees wear. Her long blonde hair is pulled up on top of her head in a messy knot, but some curls slip free and hang around her face. She bats them away and I have the overwhelming urge to tuck them behind her ears.
“The pie was great,” I say for lack of anything better and I must have startled her because she knocks over a huge stack of Styrofoam cups and flings the second filter full of coffee spent coffee grounds across the counter where it splattered all across the white dress shirt that covers my chest and my blue tie.
“Whoops,” she whispers.
Russell throws his head back and cackles. I sigh and look down at the mess that is all over my uniform. Any other time and I would be mad. Hell, today was the day from hell and the last thing I need is to go home and change in the middle of the day, but I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m so sorry,” she says as she hurries around the counter with a rag. “So, so sorry.”
“Darlin’ it’s fine,” I say as I wipe the tears from my eyes.
“Are you sure?” she asks me. “I’d be happy to pay to have it dry cleaned,” she says and I’m humbled that this woman who obviously does not have much would offer to use it to clean my shirt and tie after an accident. And that’s exactly what it was—an accident—she didn’t do it on purpose.
“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s just a shirt,” I tell her.
“It’s a nice shirt . . . and a tie.”
“It is, but it’ll be alright.” I smile.
“If you say so,” she mumbles as she looks anywhere but at me and I realize how right Russell was. She is a broken bird. I want to smash the face of who ever put that fear and uncertainty in her eyes. And I know without a doubt, I want a chance to be the man to take it all away. Just a chance. No one knows what the future holds but I want a chance with her.
“I do,” I say gently. “Go out with me.”
“Wh-what?” she asks. “I couldn’t have heard you right.” I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at her honest response.
“Will you go out with me Saturday night?” I ask sweetly.
“Oh, I did hear you correctly,” she says as she tips her head to the side in confusion. “But I don’t even know your name.” And I realize that she’s right. I don’t know her name either.
“My apologies. I’m Tanner Savage. Please, have mercy on me and say you’ll go out with me,” I say as I clutch my chest as if she has mortally wounded me. And then she grants me the greatest gift. She giggles a tinkling bell laugh and it’s absolutely breathtaking. I also get the feeling that she doesn’t laugh often or hasn’t had a reason to in quite some time.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tanner Savage. My name is Abby Williams,” she says holding out her tiny hand for me to shake. I take it in mine and feel the zap of electricity between our palms.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I say, my voice gruff with excitement. “Say you’ll go out with me.”
“Okay, I will,” she smiles and it’s everything.
Chapter 6
Abigail
WHAT THE HELL WAS I thinking?
The problem is I wasn’t thinking or else I never would have agreed to go on a date with Tanner Savage. Or any man for that matter. But definitely not one as handsome as Tanner. If I ever get married again it’s going to be to a short man who’s a little bit chubby and lived in his mother’s basement playing Dungeons and Dragons until he was thirty. A man who would love me for me—quirks and all—not someone so handsome that women’s panties just burst into flames at a moment’s notice. Not someone who would cheat or hit.
Even his name sends chills down my spine.
I know better. Men lead to nothing but trouble and heartache. I had a handsome man once and he nearly broke my spirit. Then he made me a criminal. And Brandon wasn’t even half as good looking as Tanner. Not that I’m blaming Brandon or anyone for the choices I made. I made those all on my own and I’m the one who has to live with them at the end of the day. And I do. Sort of.
No, I should call him and tell him that I’m sick. That I’m sorry but he made a mistake. He doesn’t really want to date me. He wants to date someone else. Tanner was just confused in the moment. But something tells me Tanner Savage is a man who knows exactly what he wants and goes for it. Shit.
But I can’t because I was so lost in his bright hazel eyes that I didn’t bother to stop and get his phone number. I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I let my hormones get the best of me. Granted, Tanner has a special way of lighting a Roman candle firework to those hormones and launching them into space. Only to then turn around and make my brains into scrambled eggs.
I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror in my motel room. I’m wearing a bra and panties while I brush my hair and dust a little makeup onto my face. I see a woman getting ready for a date.
A date? I scoff at myself. Brandon died a little over two months ago. I have been a widow for just as long. Even though my husband has been dead in my heart for much longer than that, I shouldn’t be dating. I feel oddly guilty for going out with someone new.
I pull on my old, well-worn jeans and beat up sneakers, I don’t have anything else, but I also think Tanner knows that and wouldn’t take a girl like me out on date to a fancy restaurant. My wavy, blonde hair is being an unruly mess. Really, it’s decided to go back to our “dancing days huge”. This might be Texas, but stripper hair is never acceptable outside of a club. I pick up my brush from the vanity and pull it back, snapping the rubber band in place just as a knock sounds on my door.
“Shit!” I bark out jumping, dropping the brush and knocking over the jar of my loose face powder which sprays all over the small bathroom. I stand back trying to get out of the splash zone when I accidentally kick the chair leg, smashing my toes.
“Abby?” Tanner calls out.
“Umm . . . just a minute,” I shout back.
I grab a towel and try to mop up as much of the spilled powder as possible. Tanner knocks on the door again. Crap! I cough a horrid choking cough when a huge cloud of powder billows up in my face.
“Are you alright in there?” he calls out.
“F—” I cough again before clearing my throat. “Just fine!”
I toss the soiled towel in the bathtub and pull the shower curtain closed. I grab my makeup bag and hold it open just below the counter as I use my free hand to scoop everything into the opening of the bag before zipping it closed and placing it at a perfect right angle to the faucet.
I brush the loose tendrils of hair back from my face with my fingertips before taking a deep breath and opening the door to my motel room with a fake smile on my face. Tanner’s eyes go wide before looking me up and down.
“I just need to grab my keys and my purse, and I’ll be ready to go,” I tell him before shutting the door in his face. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea on a first—and last—date. I grab my purse and my keys including the clunky old metal key that locks and unlocks this room before opening the door—again, to Tanner’s stunned face.
“I like everything about you, darlin’ but I think you might should put a shirt on before I have to arrest us both for indecent exposure.” His smooth, deep voice rolls over me. I tip my head to the side in confusion and it takes me a second to realize what he was saying.
I look down at myself and realize I’m only wearing a bra and jeans before letting out an “Eep!” and hurl myself back through the door and slam it shut. I drop my purse on the floor by the door and launch myself face down on the lumpy double bed.
A knock sounds at the door.
I hold my breath deciding it best not to answer. Maybe he’ll take pity on me and leave. Forget
all about this whole date thing and leave me to my humiliation. Unfortunately, I’m fresh out of luck.
A knock sounds again.
“Abby?” he asks as he pushes the door open a crack.
“Abby’s not here right now,” I mumble from under the pillow. “Can I take a message?” I hear his smooth chuckle from the other side of the room.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says.
“There is everything to be embarrassed about,” I shout back.
“Would it help if I took off my shirt?”
“God, no,” I answer with all seriousness.
After a pregnant pause he says, “You know a lesser man might have his feelings hurt over your refusal to see me topless.” I roll my eyes but of course he can’t see that.
“Somehow, I think you’ll survive,” I droll.
“Look, it could be worse.”
“I’m not sure how.”
“Only I saw you without a shirt on, I already knew you were gorgeous,” he says. “But if we don’t move on to a new topic, one where the sight of you in that pretty pink lace bra isn’t fresh in my head, I’m about to take you out for cider and a hayride sporting a baseball bat in the front of my pants.”
“I highly think it’s that noticeable,” I mumble.
“Care to take a gander?”
Actually, I do. I shouldn’t I know that, but I can’t help myself, so I peek out from under the pillow where he is standing next to my bed. It’s like a wreck on the side of the highway, you might jusge all the rubber neckers but you’re still going to look. So I do, I turn my head to look at the front of Tanner’s jeans. There is a—cough sizeable—bulge behind his zipper.
“It appears that your original statement was correct,” I say as haughtily as I can. Tanner strangles on a laugh before shutting it down.
“Can we go now?” he asks.
“I suppose.”
“Good,” he claps moving towards the door. “Might I suggest a sweatshirt, it’s chilly out.” And then he winks at me and walks out the door leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
Chapter 7
Tanner
THE DOOR CLICKS CLOSED BEHIND me and I have to open and close my fists at my side to keep from punching the wall or bellowing for all the world to hear the anger and hurt I felt looking at the scars on Abby’s ribs.
And then I remember her beautiful body and all that long messy hair pulled up in a ponytail and I think, who could look at all that sweetness of her face and hurt her? Whoever was given the gift of Abby to love and protect and didn’t do his job, is an idiot and an asshole.
I hear the latch on the door click open and close again before she clears her throat. I plaster a warm smile on my face and turn around to meet her gaze. If there’s one thing I do tonight, it’ll be make her feel safe and protected—wanted.
“You said something about cider?” she asks.
“Funny you should mention that,” I say as I hold out my elbow for her to take like the perfect gentleman my mama raised me to be. She pauses before hesitantly placing her hand on my elbow and I can see that her trust is going to be hard won but so worth it. “I know a place that makes the best apple cider.”
“What a coincidence,” she smiles a crooked little smile. “It’s my very favorite thing.”
I lead her down the stairs to my truck and all the way around to the passenger side. I love the look on her face when I open the door for her and help her into her seat. She doesn’t need me to do these things for her, but I do them because I want to show her what it’s like to be treated with care and respect. I walk around the truck and hop into the driver’s seat.
It’s about a twenty-minute drive from the motel to the Jennings’ orchard and Abby watches the trees with their red and orange falling leaves and the purple streaked amber sky in the setting sun pass by with rapt attention. I don’t know where she came from, but I understand what she’s feeling as she watches the painted Texas sky pass by from her window. When I left for the Marine Corps, I travelled all over, to the other end of the world and back, and no sunset is as beautiful as those you see in Mason.
I pull into the dirt lot of the orchard that’s open to the public. The Jennings’ orchard offers seasonal picks year-round: in the summer you can picnic with sandwiches and pick strawberries until you can’t eat or carry them. In the early fall the apple trees are full to bursting and they make their own cider here on the property. In late fall like we are now, you can pick pumpkins and go for hayrides and in winter you can choose and chop your own Christmas tree. There’s truly something for everyone here.
I grab a big flannel blanket and my heavy canvas jacket from the backseat before stepping from the truck and walking around to the passenger side to open the door for Abby. I set my haul on the hood of the truck so that I can wrap my hands around her waist and pull her from the cab. I can hear her breath catch in her chest when my hands make contact with her body. “Go slow,” I tell myself. She smiles at me so bright that her eyes twinkle and her whole face lights up. Abby looks at me like I hung the moon and in that moment, I want her to look at me like that forever.
I touch my palm to the small of her back and guide her through the entrance marked with twinkle lights and right up to the cider booth where Mrs. Jennings is sitting with her daughters who preen when they see me, but slump down when they see Abby. She’s amazing even in jeans and sneakers.
“Well, hey there, Tanner,” Mrs. Jennings says to me. “I heard your mama say you would be here tonight with a girl, I just didn’t believe it.” I wince at her words. I haven’t been a big dater since I got back from the Marines.
“Yes, ma’am.” I smile. “Here I am.”
“And who is your friend here?” she asks, and I notice she emphasized the word friend.
“This is my date, Abigail,” I say as I pull her closer to my body in protection of the unattached women at the booth. And not her protection, but protection of me.
“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am,” she says to Mrs. Jennings.
“It’s nice to meet you too, sweet girl. Would you like some cider?”
“Yes, please.” Mrs. Jennings hands her a paper cup before turning to me.
“I suppose you want some too, young man.” She sighs a put-upon sigh before winking at me.
“You know that I do.” I laugh as she rolls her eyes at me.
“Here you go, baby.” She smiles at me handing me my own cup. My mom and Mrs. Jennings have been best friends for ages. I pull my wallet from my pocket, but she refuses, saying, “You put that away. You know your money’s no good here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say to her. “Thank you.”
“You tell Miss Edna I said she owes me a rematch at cards!” she calls out to us as Abby and I are walking away. Those two and their card games. Sometimes, I honestly don’t know how they’re both still friends as bad card sharks as they are, but then again, a friendship like theirs is hard to kill.
Abby and I sip our drinks as we walk over to the line for the hayride and see the usual cast of characters waiting to climb onto the big wagon that’s pulled by two Belgian Draft Horses. Hay lines the sides of the wagon for people to sit on.
“Oh,” Abby breathes. “They’re beautiful.” She looks so much like a little girl who always wanted Santa to bring her a pony for Christmas every year, the ones that had those rainbow Lisa Frank horses all over their notebooks in school. And I love that I gave her that.
“Want to go ask Mr. Jennings if you can meet them?” I ask her.
“Can we?” She jumps a little in her excitement.
“Of course.” I smile as I lead her over to where Mr. Jennings stands with his horses.
“Mr. Jennings,” I say as I hold out my hand to shake his.
“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t Tanner Savage,” he says, smiling wide as he shakes my hand. “How is your mama?”
“She’s great, sir, thank you. I’d like you to meet Abigail.”
“It�
��s nice to meet you, Abigail,” he says softly to her as he eyes her up, no doubt he’s heard all about the new girl in town. Gossip travels fast in a town like ours.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” she says quietly. “You have beautiful horses.”
“Would you like to meet Merle and Waylon?” he asks her, and I have to bite back a smile at the way her eyes light up.
“Yes, please,” she says. “I would love to.”
“Here you go,” he says as he offers her sugar cubes. “Just hand these to the boys and tell them that they’re handsome and they will be putty in your hands before you know it. Kind of like another big bruiser we both know.” He winks at her and I feel my cheeks blush.
“It’s lovely to meet you boys,” she says as she strokes their noses and I think about another big beast that would like to be stroked by her. I feel my jeans tighten at the thought. Go slow.
Abby feeds Waylon and Merle their treats and just as Mr. Jennings said, they were putty in her hands. Merle, who is arguably kind of a bastard as he always nips my ass if I get too close to him, nuzzled her. And I swear he gave me the eye, one that said neener-neener-neener I’ve got your girl, asshole.
I have never been gladder than when Mr. Jennings told everyone it was time to load up on the wagon. That Merle is a real jerk. Waylon is sweet as pie though. And doesn’t nip my ass.
I walked Abby around to the back of the wagon where there is an opening to climb up. I grab her by the waist again and lift her up. Her cheeks blush beautifully as she heats to my touch no matter how innocuous. I hand her our blanket and then climb up behind her.
“Choose our seats,” I tell her, and she grins at me before leading me to a prime corner spot. “Excellent choice,” I tell her, and she blossoms to the complement. It makes me want to give them to her frequently.
I sit down next to her on the hay bale and settle the red flannel blanket we brought over our laps. Mr. Jennings drives the horses around the orchard and through the trees. It’s a beautiful ride through the countryside and all I can see is Abby and the bright smile of wonder and delight on her face.
Church Bells Page 3
