by Lara Sweety
Laurel saw that he wore the new jeans, shirt, and boots she’d bought him. The braided leather neckband he wore accentuated his neck making him look even bigger, stronger. She noticed he’d put the diamond stud back in his ear after she had let him know that it would work where they were going.
She’d felt a sharp pang of jealously. She knew in a college town like Columbia he would be mobbed by beautiful women. She also knew there was nothing she could do about it. She had no claim to him.
Traffic picked up and Derrick realized they were getting closer to the big town. He pulled himself up from his casually draped position to reseat his cap.
“We deserve some fun for a change,” Laurel grinned at him.
Still daylight, she treated him to a driving tour of the campus.
“It’s my alma mater.” Central was huge.
“I didn’t know you had a degree,” Derrick noted.
“Ag biz—between Adam and Shannon and Tyler; little by little, but I did it.”
When they skirted the giant football stadium, she grinned wide. “Football is all about tailgating and cheering while freezing your ass off!” She grinned. She showed him several notable buildings and areas around the campus. Derrick had not thought about the prospect of college for quite a while.
“There’s the law school,” Laurel noted.
They stopped at King Arthur’s Pizza so Laurel could introduce him to the popular spot and they could grab a bite to eat. The pair drew quizzical glances.
“You can study almost anything here.” She almost yelled to be heard over the music. She sipped a beer while he wondered if she meant academics or people.
As they were leaving, they were separated, and Derrick was thronged by a group of girls. “So how’s football handsome?” “Wanna study me?” He attempted to bolt, his head swimming when another girl caught his arm. “Wanna dance?” He pushed past the giggling group of ogling eyes and rushed for the door.
Laurel chuckled a little when she saw his deer-in-the-headlights look. “You better relax, cowboy. That’s sure to happen at least one other time this evening.” She buried her jealousy underneath the words. She knew he could never be hers, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to break the last girl’s nose.
His good looks were certainly not lost on Laurel. The weeks of hard work had toned him, light ripples replacing the soft chest. Arms, legs, and face even more chiseled than before. He was ripped. She would certainly be making waves tonight with a man like him on her arm.
She grinned at the thought and threw him the keys, “You drive.”
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Turning into the parking lot at Wild Horses Saloon, he looked at her as he turned off the truck ignition.
“Concert night. It’s fine. Besides, you’re my DD.” She grinned. Derrick knew the apprehension showed on his face. He hadn’t been out like this in a long time and didn’t have a fake license anymore.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you dance with me or anything.” Laurel gave him a funny, taunting, girly pout.
He would rather dance with her than be mobbed by drooling, drunk groupies any day. But how could he tell her that? He’d grown to like the modern country music she had playing in the house and barn all the time. He relished the idea of pulling her close to dance to one of her favorite songs. The place was loud, smelled like beer and people, but had a comfortable, easy way about it that enveloped him as they joined the massive crowd.
It didn’t take long for Laurel to find the friends she was meeting at the bar and for Derrick to be dragged to the dance floor by a pretty girl. Country here seemed to have no boundaries of race, color, or creed, and Derrick found it a refreshing change from the narrow minds of Summerville.
He was finding it easy to talk to people and was soon making new friends. His dance partner turned out to be a fun, bright girl who was pre-law. She was good company, really pretty, a little tipsy and—he looked back to Laurel’s place at the bar with her friends.
Laurel had kept an eye on Derrick most of the time. She wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t want him getting into a fight or because of the cute girl that was hanging on his every word. Regardless, she didn’t want him getting into trouble—he was her ride home.
Laurel had been enjoying herself. She had a few too many, maybe a lot too many. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was trying to drown, but for the time being, it felt good, numb.
Suddenly, hairy, tanned arms reached around her from behind. She stiffened when she saw the wedding-ringed left hand and high school class ring on the right.
“How did I know I’d find you here, darlin’?” He said in a jovial tone. He reeked of cheap cologne and whiskey; it made her queasy as he lowered his mouth to her ear. She froze as he pressed against her, trying to get her to sway to the music. “You’re as gorgeous as ever, honey. I don’t think anyone would notice if you left with me.” He slurred his words.
“Gerry, no.” Laurel twisted in his arms, attempting to break his hold on her. Gerry Smythe spun her around to face him, digging his fingers into her arms painfully. She stayed still, hoping she could talk him down before something bad happened. The drunken smirk on his face matched the fire in his eyes.
“Jahn’s dead.” He dug into her arms as he shook her. “What, you think your boy will take his place? You can’t send a boy to do a man’s work, honey.”
He tried to pull her close, his left arm grabbed at her backside, but his right arm never made it there. It twisted high behind his back and his face smashed against a table sending beers and patrons flying, scrambling away from the fray.
“Who are you calling boy?” The booming baritone bellowed. “Talk to her again and one of those blades off your mower is gonna get shoved up your ass!” With that, Derrick threw the man to the floor, writhing in agony and bloody from his face hitting the table with such force.
Derrick slipped an arm around Laurel’s waist, half dragging, half carrying her out of the bar with her yelling at him the whole way. Finally wriggling free of him, in the middle of the parking lot, she staggered to regain her balance.
“You think you need to defend my honor, Casanova? I can dammmnn well take care of m—yself, you idiot.” Her words were gapping and badly slurred.
He looked at her incredulously. “Are you kidding me? I just pried that asshole off of you!”
“You’re not Jahn. You’re just theeee hired ha...nd,” she slurred loudly, wavering. Her words stung him. He strolled back to her position in the gravel.
“No, I’m not your dead husband. I’m Derrick. Open your eyes woman. I oughta leave your sorry ass right here.” His hands on his hips, he stood, his head cocked shaking it in disbelief.
“Go to hell!” She screamed at him with her whole body and promptly fell to her knees, puking up everything.
“Oh, God,—really?!” He rolled his eyes upward. “So this is your idea of a test or lesson or whatever?” He ran his hand over his face and under his cap, which he repositioned quickly, like a pitcher’s tick before throwing a ninety-five mile-per-hour fastball. “Shit!”
Having nothing else at his disposal, he pulled off his shirt and wiped her face gently with it. “You done?”
She nodded weakly.
He gathered her up to stand and decided she wasn’t going to be walking anywhere. He scooped her up and carried her all the way to the truck. Wearily, she tucked her head to his shoulder, and with the rhythm of his steps, she allowed the lights to fade away.
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Laurel dreamed that she was nestled against the broad expanse of Derrick’s chest. Inhaling she could smell him; a mix of his own manly scent with that wonderful cologne he wore. Her hand caressed his back, his hip, and trailed up his chest. He felt incredible. Why was Derrick in her dream with his arm draped over her hip?
Laurel floated, seeing herself snuggled into a big sleigh bed, deep in fresh linens, in just her silky black bra and panties. She slipped from her dr
eam state to reality. The bright sun of late June blinded her. It crossed her mind that it was later than usual as she faded from a state of deep, hazy arousal to being completely conscious, realizing she was, indeed, face to face, body to body with Derrick.
He smiled softly at her and she smiled back.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” he drawled.
Then it hit her—she was barely covered and in bed with a very gorgeous man. “Shit!” Laurel backed away in disbelief. What have I done? She jerked the covers up around her chest as Derrick lifted his arm from her. She scowled at him hard.
“Whoa, whoa, hold on there, don’t get mad,” Derrick started. “You were really drunk and we—I—.”
“We what?” Her eyes flew open wide.
“I didn’t want you to fall out of bed or fall down the stairs and break your pretty little neck. You were really wasted, Laurel. I was just—.”
She didn’t give him time to finish. “Just what? Taking advantage of my drunk, sorry ass? Huh?” She demanded an explanation, slapping her hand on the bed between them. The events of the last evening came flooding back to her.
“No. I would never do that. I’m sorry for what I said, but you were pretty mean yourself,” he said gently. There was a brief silence as they stared at each other.
“Why did you let him touch you?” Derrick propped himself up on one arm and stared intently at her waiting for an answer.
Laurel exhaled and fell back into the pillows, pulling the covers to her chin, staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t, he surprised me. I told him no and tried to get away. He accused me of—of us—well you know.” She looked back at him to garner his reaction to the statement.
He smiled at her. Derrick was taking the opportunity provided him.
“Is there something wrong with that?” His voice revealed his interest in the subject. “We’re both adults. I may be at a different spot in my life than you, but I can make my own decisions and so can you Laurel.”
Laurel laughed, “I’m old enough, you mean? Derrick, I—we—can’t. This is not supposed to happen.” She motioned between the two of them.
He didn’t let it go. “So it would be wrong if it did?” She noticed he sounded a little wounded, and for a moment, she wondered if he really did want there to be something more between them.
“No—no. It’s just—I just—uh, I don’t know.” She covered her hurting eyes with her arm. “Where are my clothes?”
“They were kinda gross. I didn’t want you to have to sleep in them.” He was still watching her reactions. “I cleaned you up a little before I put you to bed. You don’t remember?”
She groaned. “No, sorry. I guess I was pretty drunk.”
He chuckled. “You could say that.”
Silence fell between them as they lay there, each trying to figure out what to say next. Identifying a wrong in the quiet, Laurel’s mouth fell open with a stricken look over-taking her face.
“Where is Smythe’s crew? I don’t hear the tractor or haybine or anything?” She abandoned the safety of the covers and jumped up, running to the window.
“Derrick,” she began slowly, “where the hell is the hay equipment?”
“Smythe’s stuff was gone when we got back,” Derrick told her with a hint of a smirk on his face.
“So what the hell am I going to do now?” Laurel slumped at the thought of having to round up another hay crew in the middle of the season. The weight of the farm now sitting squarely on her shoulders, pulling down. She didn’t appreciate the idea of seeing a hay crop wasted.
“Laurel,” he grinned and ducked his head. He loved to say her name; it fit his lips so well. “I’m a bit of a networker. I made some new friends last night.” He pointed down the road as the roar of trucks pulling heavy equipment groaned louder.
The mixed mash-up of equipment and operators unloaded quickly. They started to work on the field that was mostly cut.
A rake started flipping long, fluffed rows of hay, while a mower started cutting the balance. A haybine headed to the south alfalfa field. She watched in amazement as the obviously experienced crew worked together easily. There was a younger man oiling a square baler, while an older man threaded a new roll of twine into it. Wagons and an extra elevator showed up with more hands to man them. A group of women set up drinks and food.
Laurel watched in amazement. She choked up. She had truly underestimated Derrick Jones. “Thank you so much,” she gushed. She crossed her arms and looked back at him in amazement. “You did all this?”
He nodded. He’d made a lot of phone calls early that morning, while she was snoring practically face down in the bed, hair in her face—beautiful. Moving up to stand behind her, he watched her reaction and the movement outside. She abandoned caution and turned to grab him in a huge hug. He hugged her back, drawing her closer, slipping his hands low on her back, pulling her in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. She felt so right against him. He closed his eyes just to feel her. Maybe now she would trust him.
Realizing the position they were in, and suddenly conscious of her minimal clothing, Laurel gently backed away, smiling shyly at him. She searched his eyes, not knowing if she’d take what she found. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, she bolted for the privacy of the bathroom.
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Joining the crew outside later, Laurel was met with smiles of people telling her they were glad to help. Derrick was directing the operation, making sure the hay was dry enough, the bales tight and stored in the right place.
“Derrick, what about Gerry’s contract? How am I going to pay for this?” She was calm, feeling somehow that his answers would put her fears to rest.
“I’ve got it covered.” He smiled at her and sipped cold lemonade.
“How?” She pried.
“Can’t you let anyone take care of you?” Derrick shook his head in disbelief. “Gerry’s contract is full of holes. He had already called off his crew long before we got home last night. Probably had something to do with a bloody nose and battered ego.” He snickered.
“Anyway, I spoke with an attorney friend of my father’s. He called Smythe and threatened him with breach of contract, among other things. Gerry Smythe will not be bothering you again Laurel. And this...,” he drew a line between fields with his long arm outstretched; “...this is at no charge.” Squinting at the west horizon, he went on to let her know the intention was to have it all up before the next evening.
Laurel’s mind spiraled. Was this real? It had been a long time since things had seemed under control. Amazed at the generosity of the crew, she mentally scrambled to find a way to repay them.
“We have work to do,” she said, taking off for the house under a full head of steam. Not wanting to interrupt a woman on a mission, he followed, enjoying her fresh enthusiasm.
“Derrick, we need to get the grill out and get the pool up and running. Would you mind?” She asked finger tapping her lips in thought. She stared at the pool cover, “It’s time to use that thing again. It will only take about twenty-four hours if we do it now. The chemicals and slide are in the storage shed, the grill too. There is one thing I do know how to do and that’s throwing one hell of a party.” It was the happiest he had seen her.
“I’ve got this.” He winked at her and they scattered, diving into preparations.
A couple of women had come to the house to slip into the bathroom off the deck. “Hi, you must be Laurel?” The woman shook Laurel’s hand. They struck up a conversation that quickly shifted to the party Laurel was planning. The women gathered in the house to plan.
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About seven the next evening the last square bale went up an elevator and into the big red barn. The last round bale was on its way to the hay shed. Hot and a little worn, satisfied smiles and high fives were exchanged as the crew gathered around an empty flatbed trailer.
Laurel boosted herself up the side, jumped up and asked for their attention. “I’ve never seen this kind of gene
rosity and kindness. Please know that you have paid it forward in a big way.” The scene amazed her and she vowed to find a way to help each one of them in return. There were four Amish teenagers, friends from the bar, a retired professor, neighbors, and college Ag students from every corner of the globe.
“I can’t thank you enough, but I can throw one hell of a party!” Her announcement was met with hearty applause and war hoops. The crowd hooped and hollered all the way to the house. The smell of barbeque had everyone’s attention; the hickory smoke had been drifting down the hill for the last hour. As they rounded the side of the house, Laurel glanced at the microphones and cords on the wooden deck of one of the hay trailers.
Taking turns, the crew cleaned up. Laughter and splashes came from the pool. Plates and silverware filled waiting hands. Fresh lemonade glasses clinking accompanied the clank of ice-cold beers being pulled from coolers.
Laurel had her head down working in the kitchen when she noticed the hubbub being stilled. She looked out to see a man with commanding presence standing in the middle of the deck.
Derrick.
He was hard to miss with no shirt on, the muscles on his chest twitched, his biceps flexed as he drew his hands together to hold his cap below the belt of his dusty jeans. Laurel’s jaw fell slack as silence fell and she stood, serving spoon still in her hand.
Derrick didn’t know quite what possessed him, but it seemed like the right thing to do. His words captured the attention of the entire crowd. He thanked everyone for their hard work and friendship. He thanked God for new friends, for help in a tight spot and a good hay crop.
“—And Lord, thank you for Laurel. Thank you for bringing this amazing woman into my life.” He looked through the glass as he started the dinner blessing.
