Tess in Boots

by Courtney Rice Gager

  I laughed. “Carl sounds like he was an amazing man.”

  “He was.” She watched Thatcher and Jake disappear into the barn. “He surely was.”

  ***

  “Bears? You’re kidding.”

  I could hear the sound of pots clanging on Annie’s end of the line. I was back up at the cottage for the evening, and decided to give her a call to fill her in on my trip so far and see how her interview went.

  “Well, I haven’t seen any bears yet, but I think Jake was serious. It’s pretty… rustic.” I walked to the window and looked out at the darkening sky.

  “Wow.”

  “I know. So anyway, if and when Logan comes around, I’ve decided this is where I want to have our wedding.”

  I spent the next few minutes explaining my mission to transform the vineyard.

  “That’s my Tess!” she said, when I came up for air. “The place sounds incredible. It’s a wonderful idea. And Logan will come around. He has to.”

  “I hope. Okay, enough about weddings. How did your interview go?”

  “How do you think it went? I got the job. I start next Monday.”

  “Well congratulations. But I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “Thanks.” There was a hissing sound in the background. “Oh. Oh, no. I’m about to burn the place down. I gotta go, Tess.”

  “Go take care of that. Talk to you soon.”

  “Talk soon,” she said.

  I hung up the phone and opened the doors to the patio, leaning in the doorway where I could jump inside to safety if some wild animal came sidling up. I breathed in and noticed how deliciously cool and clean the air was.

  Last night I hadn’t noticed the sky. Perhaps I was distracted by Jake, or maybe it was a foggy night. Tonight I was taken aback by the hundreds of glistening stars floating above. As the darkness spread, each one seemed to appear out of nowhere, becoming bigger, brighter, closer. I’d never seen such stars. It was as if I could reach my hand out and snatch one.

  In the early days of our relationship, Logan took me out to the harbor for a sunset sail. Afterward, we docked the boat and sat there for a while as night fell.

  “Look at all these beautiful stars.” He swept his arm across the span of city lights.

  “Let’s wish on them,” I said.

  We took turns wishing aloud for all sorts of silly things on the various lights: a streetlamp here, an apartment window there.

  Logan pointed to the bridge, and I turned to see the car headlights whizzing by. “I wish this night would never end,” he said.

  When I looked back at him, he leaned in to kiss me with such tenderness and perfection I knew he was the one.

  I closed my eyes and let the memory linger in my mind. Someday, we would sit out here together and wish on the stars, for real this time.

  I hoped. Oh, how I hoped.

  CHAPTER 6

  “You need some help, Heels?” From across the creek, Thatcher shielded his eyes and looked up at me.

  Earlier, I hopped over the water and climbed the steep embankment on the other side where a large tractor tire was abandoned in the weeds. Now I rocked the tire back and forth in an attempt to free it from a tangled mess of unruly brambles.

  “No!” My body lurched as I tugged on the tire. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. Not from here, anyway.”

  “Well, I am!”

  “Come on down from there, and let me do that,” he said.

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I can do it.”

  “I’m sure you can. I’m just trying to be a gentleman, Heels.”

  “You’re trying to get on my nerves. And I told you not to call me—” My voice broke off as I lost my grip on the tire and stumbled back. I tried to steady myself, but it was too late. My feet slipped out from under me and sent me sliding down the hill, grasping blades of grass in a vain attempt to keep from falling into the muddy creek. I landed in the water with a noisy splash.

  The water was shallow, no more than six inches deep, but I fell in at just the right angle, and I was drenched. I remained there for a moment, stunned and fuming, waiting for Thatcher to make some sort of snide remark. But there was silence.

  I stood up in the creek and wiped the mud from my face as I turned around. Maybe he left right before I fell. Maybe he hadn’t seen anything.

  No such luck. He stood there watching me, trying so hard not to laugh it looked like he might pull a muscle any minute.

  “Shut. Up.” The dirty water tasted bitter on my lips.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  I glared at him through mud-soaked eyelashes.

  “Oh come on,” he said, “it’s not so bad. You city girls pay big bucks for this stuff at the spa, right?”

  I shook my head and climbed out of the creek, wiping more mud from my face as I went.

  “Look, Heels. You really should let me do this stuff. Just take care of your little website, and I’ll handle everything else.”

  “My little website needs pictures. And this place is a mess. Maybe if you and Jake didn’t waste so much time tinkering with who knows what in the barn, I wouldn’t have to be out here doing this.”

  “If you needed help, why didn’t you ask?”

  “I don’t ask for help.” As soon as I said it, I remembered I asked Thatcher for help when I stopped at the firehouse to ask for directions. But that was different. I was desperate. “I don’t usually ask for help,” I corrected myself.

  “Yeah. I’m starting to notice that.”

  There was a sudden gentleness in his tone, and it caught me off guard. I took a step back and looked over my shoulder at the tire, which was still nestled in the weeds.

  “You’re bleeding.” Thatcher reached out and wrapped his fingers around one of my wrists, inspecting the back of my hand.

  “Huh?” I looked down and saw both my hands were covered in scrapes. “Oh, yeah. There were thorns.”

  He shook his head and used the bottom of his white T-shirt to blot away the muddy water from my hands. When he was done, his shirt was speckled with red dots. “You need to go wash up.”

  There it was again. That gentle voice. I couldn’t quite place the way it made me feel; intrigued, in a way, but also nervous.

  I didn’t know how to respond, and I was relieved to hear the sound of tires on the gravel. I looked up from the blood-stained shirt and saw Sara’s car approaching. She rolled down her window and studied me with concern.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “You need a ride up?”

  The tension in my shoulders loosened. “Yes! That would be great.” I glanced down at my wet clothes. “But I’m all gross.”

  “Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Get in.”

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. I jogged over to the passenger side of the car and got inside without a word or glance back at Thatcher.

  “See ya, Thatch,” Sara called out the window.

  As we drove away, I peeked in the mirror and saw him give a half-hearted wave before hopping over the creek to reach the tire.

  “Is he always so obnoxious?” I asked.

  “He sure can come off that way, can’t he?”

  “Yeah, well. What is it they say? If it looks like a duck…”

  She laughed. “I’ve known Thatcher forever. He seems a little cocky at times, but he really is a very decent person.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  As we drove along the path, I reflected on what Sara said. She said she’d known Thatcher forever. What did she mean? I wanted to know, but there was a part of me that hesitated to bring it up. Why did it even matter?

  It didn’t.

  And yet, it did. As much as he got under my skin, there was something about Thatcher that made me unusually curious.

  I worked up the courage to ask as we pulled into the driveway of the house.

  Sara put the car in park. “Do you need anything, Tess?�
�

  “No, I’ll be fine. Nothing a few bandages and a shower can’t fix. But thanks so much for the ride.”

  “Of course.”

  I put one hand on the door handle. “By the way, how do you know Thatcher? I was wondering…”

  She sighed and looked out the windshield. “It’s a long story. For another time, maybe.”

  The elusiveness of her answer struck me as odd. I wanted to push the issue further, but there was a hint of pain in her expression that told me I needed to back off.

  “I understand,” I said. “Thanks again.”

  She flashed a closed-lipped smile, and I got out of the car. As I headed off toward the cottage, I couldn’t get the look in Sara’s eyes out of my mind. What was it about Thatcher that made her seem so… hurt?

  CHAPTER 7

  “Ow!”

  My leg burned as a briar swiped across my skin. I’d been working outside along the driveway all afternoon, and my ankles accumulated quite a collection of tiny red scrapes; battle wounds from wading through the weeds in an effort to clear out the last remaining junk piles.

  I loaded the final item, a rusty sink, into the back of Carl's old truck, which Jake let me borrow. With a satisfied grunt, I closed the tailgate, walked around to the driver’s side, hopped into the truck, and turned the key.

  After the creek incident, Thatcher took care of clearing out most of the junk. But he must have gotten sidetracked, because there were still a few items left strewn along the end of the path. It gave me tremendous satisfaction to get to them before he finished the job. I said I didn’t need him, and I meant it. I got it done, all by myself.

  But I was exhausted. I needed a shower. And junk food.

  I drove toward the barn, wobbling back and forth in the seat as the truck lurched along the dirt road. Jake and Thatcher were crouched down outside the door fiddling with a tractor I hadn’t seen before.

  I parked the truck near the barn and hopped out. “Truck’s full,” I said.

  Thatcher looked up from the tractor. “I told you I’d do that.”

  “And I told you I didn’t need your help. I’m going into town to get a pizza. Anyone want anything?”

  “You need directions?” Thatcher asked. “I know a place.”

  “I have a GPS on my phone. I’ll be fine.”

  He smirked. “Okay. But where was your GPS when—”

  I interrupted him. “Do you want me to pick up food for you, Jake?”

  Jake stood up and stretched his legs. “We’re good, Tessy. Sara’s cooking, and we’re calling it a day in a couple minutes, anyway.”

  “All right. See you later.”

  “Actually, do you mind driving the truck?” Jake asked. “The dump’s right up the road on the way to town. Just past the county line. You can’t miss it.”

  Was he serious? He wanted me to take all of this junk to the dump? Now? My muscles screamed. All I wanted to do was get in my comfortable car, listen to some music, and go get a pizza.

  “I can do it,” Thatcher offered.

  “No need.” I forced myself to sound peppy, like I was still full of energy. “I’ve got it.” I got back into the truck, started it up, and headed down the drive out to the main road.

  It was late in the afternoon, and though it was sunny earlier, heavy storm clouds appeared and darkened the sky. I groped around until I found the switch to turn on the truck’s headlights. After a few miles, I realized I was driving in utter silence, my mind swarming with ideas for the vineyard. It was time to relax a little. I needed a mental break.

  I turned on the radio and country music blared through the speakers. I turned the dial. More country music. I turned it again. Country gospel music. I sighed and glanced at the radio.

  I looked away from the road for an instant, a fraction of a second. But when I looked back, an enormous white object was blocking my path. My pulse quickened as I slammed on the brake and swerved to avoid it. I held my breath when the truck skidded to the left, across the oncoming lane and over the gravel shoulder. There was a loud popping noise. The wheel shook violently in my hands. I pumped harder on the brake, but it was too late. The truck careened forward, and I braced myself as it landed with a thump in the ditch on the side of the road. The engine sputtered and died.

  My breathing came fast. I gripped the steering wheel and stared out the windshield, but I was too frazzled to focus on the world around me. My heart raced.

  “You’re okay,” I whispered to myself. “You’re okay.”

  I took a slow breath and blinked a few times. I lifted my head and looked in the rearview mirror. An enormous white cow stared back at me.

  A cow.

  He stood about fifty feet away, positioned across the lane I was driving in like a barricade at a construction site. He looked away with a bored expression on his face.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” I jumped out of the truck and kicked the door.

  Now what? I walked around the truck and inspected the damage. To my surprise, the vehicle was intact, except for the front-left tire, which was blown out. That must have been where the popping sound came from, I realized.

  Okay, I could handle this. After our father died, Jake taught me how to change a tire. Of course, I’d never actually done it. But I had paid attention. First step: I needed to find the spare.

  I searched for a few minutes before coming to the grim conclusion there was no spare. About the time I realized this, the sky opened up like a broken dam. Fat, heavy rain drops splattered all around me. I ran to the truck and tugged at the door handle. It was locked.

  I locked myself out of the truck.

  I let out an angry yell. The cow turned its head and stared at me.

  I heard the sound of tires on the wet road, and looked up in time to see another truck slowing down to avoid crashing into the cow. The truck pulled around the cow and stopped alongside where I stood on the side of the road. The driver rolled the window down, and when I saw his face, I wanted to cry.

  Thatcher.

  It was not my day.

  “You all right?”

  I crossed my arms. “I’m fine!”

  “Guess your GPS didn’t tell you to go around the cow, did it, Heels?”

  I turned away from him and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m calling for roadside assistance.”

  “Good luck. Cell phones don’t work on this stretch of road.”

  I turned around and glared at him. “What?”

  “I said cell phones don’t work on this stretch of road.”

  “I heard you. That’s insane.”

  “Go ahead and try. Maybe you have some fancy magical cell phone.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned away again, attempting to place a call. He was right. Nothing.

  “Get in the truck, Heels.”

  I didn’t budge.

  “Come on, now. Get in.”

  I turned around to see him hop out of the truck, walk around to the passenger side, and open the door.

  There was no way I was getting in his truck.

  “You gonna make me stay out in the rain all night?” he asked.

  I put my hands on my hips.

  “You know,” he said, “it ain’t right for a cow to stand in the road like that. You ever heard of Mad Cow Disease?”

  I looked at the cow, then back at Thatcher, then back at the cow.

  Was he kidding? I couldn’t tell. What choice did I have anyway? I was soaking wet, freezing, and miles from the vineyard.

  I balled my hands into fists and took several strides toward the truck. “Fine. But I’m only coming with you because you look like an idiot standing out here in the pouring rain.” I got in the truck, and he shut the door behind me.

  “Well, so do you, Heels.”

  ***

  Thatcher pulled up to a run-down little restaurant and was trying to coax me inside.

  “I don’t want pancakes,” I sa
id. “I don’t even like pancakes. I want to go home.”

  “See, there’s your problem. You want pancakes so bad you don’t even know how bad you want ’em.”

  “I look awful. I’m soaking wet.”

  “You’ll blend in. And nothing a hot cup of coffee can’t fix.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He turned the engine off. “Suit yourself. You wait in the truck while I go have me some of the best pancakes on the planet.”

  He got out of the car and walked across the parking lot. I sighed heavily, opened the truck door, and followed him.

  Inside, the place appeared as if it had been frozen in time around 1978. Ruffled flowered curtains adorned the windows. The booths were made of a mustard yellow vinyl. I looked around and took it all in. Was this place for real?

  We were seated in a corner booth by the window. A smiling older woman approached us and did a double take.

  “Why, Thatcher Bartholomew James. As I live and breathe!”

  Thatcher looked up from the menu. “Hi, Ms. Betty.”

  “Hi, sweetie. Now you take off your hat in my restaurant like a proper gentleman. You know better.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Ms. Betty.” Thatcher removed his hat and placed it on the booth next to him.

  The woman turned to me. “And who’s your girlfriend?” she asked.

  “I’m not his girlfriend,” I said.

  He smiled. “This is Tess.”

  “Tess?” There was a twinge of surprise in her voice. “The new girl in town? The… dancer?”

  “I’m not a—”

  “That’s right, Ms. Betty,” Thatcher said in a loud voice. “Tess.”

  “Well.” She busied herself with adjusting the napkin holder on our table. “It takes all kinds, I guess. It’s nice to meet you, Tess. What can I get ya?”

  Thatcher snatched the menu right out of my hands and folded it up. “The usual, please. For both of us.”

  Before I could protest, Ms. Betty took our menus and left.

  I leaned back in the booth and crossed my arms. “You know, you could have cleared up that little misunderstanding.”