by Snow, Nicole
The canvas picture that hangs in my bedroom at our apartment is of me and Edison. “Alive and well and brilliant as ever. He met me as I drove in.”
“Aw, damn that’s cool. Give him a pet for me. Or a pat. Whatever you do with horses.”
“I will.”
“So there’s nobody else there? Just you and Edison?”
I know why she’s asking. I’m a chicken. Always have been.
I hate being alone.
A remnant from my childhood. Another remnant is that I really suck at lying.
“Not technically. My grandfather’s old Army buddy is here on the property. Gramps put him in the will, too. He’ll be helping me out.”
“Oh, good! I’m relieved to hear you aren’t alone. I’ll let you go now. Call me.”
“I will. You call, too.”
Thank God. Awkward, red-faced crisis averted.
I click off and toss my phone back in my purse as I stand. A shower, some of my own clothes, and seeing Edison. All three sound delightful.
After collecting the necessities out of my suitcase, I head for the bathroom.
It has been remodeled, tastefully so. Again, the modernization steals nothing away from the old farmhouse charisma. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.
Who knew Grump-alicious had skills?
Besides looking hotter than the sun and being sneakier than a roaming panther, I mean.
The ceramic tile in the shower is gorgeous, with a newly built-in cubby for soap and shampoo. The smell of the bar of soap reminds me of him, Mr. Tall, Ink, and Muscle.
The same scent filled the air when he’d opened the bathroom door earlier.
It’s nice, for a guy.
I use my own shampoo and cream rinse, leaving the bottles next to the other set sitting in the cubby. Once dry and dressed, I blow my hair dry, then pad back to the bedroom.
I go straight to the closet, open the door, and drop my underwear and bra in the hamper sitting next to several pairs of boots, and then I hang up the black dress.
The hangers are full of sad, old clothes I’ve left behind over the years.
I cock my head and take a look, wondering if anything is salvageable.
The jeans will be questionable, but the boots and shirts might fit. There’s plenty to try on.
Long sleeve western shirts, several with snaps. Both lightweight cotton and heavier, then fleece-lined ones for cooler weather. I take out one of each. A pink and teal plaid, plus a heavier black corduroy.
Turning to the mirror mounted inside the closet, my heart leaps into my throat. “What the?”
I toss the black shirt over the chair beside the closet and shimmy the plaid shirt on over my white tank top before I reach up to pull down the long lost tan sticky note tucked behind the top of the mirror.
Once again, the note is short.
Welcome home, Bella. Trust the adventure.
Love always, Gramps.
This time, I’m beaming. “I will, Gramps, and I’ll always love you, too.”
I walk over, set the note on one of the nightstand tables beside the bed, and laugh out loud at what I find there. It’s a fresh box of candy canes.
“Oh, Gramps, you have thought of everything,” I whisper. Opening the package, I pull out a candy cane and peel the clear cellophane away. Then I tuck it in my shirt pocket and go back to the closet for a pair of brown cowboy boots. They still fit snug and feel so good my heart swells.
Swapping plaid for the black corduroy shirt and some pants at the last second, I head for the door, truly ready for Edison now.
He’s in the corral beside the barn, his big brown eyes watching me as I run down the porch steps. He nickers as I round my Jeep.
“Coming, bud. Hold your horses,” I tell him, smiling at my stupid pun.
This is how it should be. Old friends. Bad jokes. Fresh spring air.
His head sticks over the top rail, and he snorts, as if saying, “Hurry up.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise. But you already know what I’ve got, don’t you?”
He snorts softly as I reach the corral.
“Okay, okay. Fine.” I kiss the front of his head and then pull out the candy cane.
He tosses his head then lunges forward, biting the hook off the cane.
I scratch him behind the ears as he chews. “You’re lucky you’ve still got your teeth with all the candy canes I fed you years ago.”
He curls his lips back, as if to show me he still has perfect choppers.
“Never change,” I whisper, shaking my head, holding the candy out so he can take another bite.
As he chews, I glance over my shoulder at the sound of a distant motor.
There’s an ATV coming across the west field. I recognize Grump-alicious’ big frame as the driver, and scold myself for not remembering his name.
What was it again? I close my eyes, trying to think back to the conversations with Gramps. Instead, I recall when he’d stepped out of the bathroom and told me to stop screaming.
Blake?
No. Drake.
Drake Larkin.
Edison nudges my shoulder. I give him the final piece of candy cane and quietly ask him, “So what do you think of Mr. Larkin? Strange guy, isn’t he?”
Edison snorts and stomps a foot. He also nudges me again.
“Really?” I laugh. “That much?”
He tosses his head once.
I pat his nose. “All right then. If you approve, then I’m glad he’s here. Something tells me we’ll need all the help we can get.” The ATV is almost to the barn, so I lean closer to Edison as I whisper, “You know, I’m glad he’s not as old as I’d imagined. It’d be pretty weird with a guy older than Dad hanging around.”
He sniffs my palm.
“You’ve hit your quota, boy. No more today,” I tell him.
The vehicle jerks to a stop next to me. I see it’s a big one, what they call a side by side. It could easily accommodate two or three people.
“You gave that horse a candy cane?” Drake asks.
“Sure did.” I hook an arm under Edison’s neck, scratching as I pose. “Didn’t Gramps ever tell you? This is the best horse on earth. The one all other—”
“All other horses aspire to be,” Drake finishes the line for me. “Got it.”
I laugh. That was Gramps’ trademark description for Edison.
Maybe it’s because I now remember his name, I start noticing other things about Drake.
He’s dressed this time, for one, and I’m not bawling my eyes out.
So the tattoos and mountains of muscle aren’t the only thing I see.
He’d been dressed in the kitchen, of course, but my mind was still a jumbled mess.
Now, it’s more relaxed.
I see how blue his eyes are. Bright sky-blue, surrounded by a rim of dark lashes. His dark blond hair is short but long enough to be combed back on one side, and a strangely entrancing five-o’clock shadow covers his wide jaw.
If a North Dakota cowboy stepped out of a time warp and took a detour to the nearest tattoo shop before showing up here, I think he’d be a dead ringer for Drake Larkin.
Pulling my eyes off him, I nod, leaning my head against Edison. “That’s our Edison. One of a kind. I’m glad Gramps shared the catchphrase.”
“Yeah, well, he’s something to aspire to, all right, if other horses are obsessed with jailbreaks.”
His dry humor makes me laugh. “He’s still mastering latches, huh?”
“Shit, yeah. I didn’t catch up with him till the lake, and I think he only stopped then because he was trying to figure out if he should swim across it or build himself a goddamn bridge.”
I giggle, but then hold onto the main point. He’d said something like it once back in the house.
What was Edison doing rushing off to the lake?
“What were you doing over there, bud?” I ask Edison.
The horse snorts.
“Weird. He’s always cracked locks but
never runs too far,” I say aloud while stroking Edison’s long face. “Hopefully he’s not going senile, losing his way when he’s out.”
Edison shifts restlessly under my fingers. Senile? Please.
“I think he was heading to town,” Drake says, sweeping his hand through his hair. “He misses his owner.”
The ache in my heart that I know won’t go away for some time, if ever, returns. “He knows Gramps isn’t here.”
“Damn right,” Drake answers.
I close my eyes, my tears threatening to renew themselves. But these tears are for Edison. He doesn’t know what happened, why Gramps isn’t here.
Drake clears his throat. “I’m going to fix something to eat. Been a long day. You hungry?”
I shake my head.
“No, thanks. Knock yourself out.” I can’t say much more because my throat ignites.
It’s hard to breathe. Gramps keeps hitting me in bits and pieces, emotional ambushes laid by death.
“You change your mind, holler. I’ll be up for a while.”
Drake gives me a friendly salute and drives away. I stay where I’m at.
Hugging Edison and wondering if I can really do this.
Any of it?
All of it.
I go to the barn and open the door to the corral so Edison can join me.
We stay there for a good long while. I spend another hour brushing him down and talking to him, telling him how I wish things were different. How sorry I am that I didn’t come to Dallas sooner.
I share my anger with him, too. Yeah, it’s stupid to be mad at Gramps, but I can’t deny a part of me is angry that he’d died and left me everything he ever owned without any hint it was coming.
Angry that I’m the one who has to fight my parents. They won’t go down easy when it comes to money.
Angry that it could’ve been even worse. All of this.
Because if Gramps had survived somehow, but needed care, they’d have never fought me over who should take care of him. They’d have let me take on that responsibility without any arguments, except that I keep them updated on their precious stinking money.
That’s all they’ve ever cared about. Shallow people with shallower dreams.
It’s dark when I leave the barn and meander back to the house. Though the lights are on, it’s eerily quiet.
Too spent to do anything else, I head upstairs, not wanting to imagine what tomorrow will bring.
The hall light is on, and a good thing or I’m sure I’d trip. Because sitting outside my bedroom door is a tray.
My brows knit together at what just might be the last surprise of the day. Thankfully, it isn’t a bad one.
There’s a sandwich, some nuts and fruit, and a thermos of hot water along with bags of tea.
I pick it up and carry it into my bedroom, not wanting to hurt Drake’s feelings.
He’s not so bad, I guess. It truly is an act of kindness.
It’s also what I need. I realize that after putting on my pj’s and tucking into the food.
I start with the tea, move onto an apple, and then the rest.
I devour everything, and I actually enjoy it.
Making a mental note to thank him in the morning, I crawl into bed and pass out.
The last thing I see in my head is Drake Larkin and his warm, ever mysterious blue-eyed smile.
4
Some Nights (Drake)
I’ve still got that sweet little thing rattling around my head when I finally crash for the night.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her so much, even if I’m deceiving her as we speak, and part of me feels like a jackass.
But I’ve made peace with it, I tell myself. It’s for her own good, and everybody else’s.
Still, I damn sure shouldn’t be letting Jonah Reed’s granddaughter give me a hard-on that could hit a home run, but I know it’s not just her being sexy as sin that teases my dick.
It’s because we’re drifting into the part of the night I hate, after the day’s long over, and I’ve got nothing left to keep busy.
These quiet, bewitching hours are always the same.
Cursed because they bring back the same fucking ghosts; night after night, month after month, year after year.
* * *
Many Years Ago
“No fair! You’re supposed to fight in the open, buttface!” Angie runs around the corner of a snow dune ten times her height, giggling as she whips another snowball our way. She’s leading an entire small army of kids, her friends.
It’s seven-on-two and we’re totally outnumbered. But I’m the kind of brat who loves tough odds, and right now, we have the advantage with our carefully laid trap.
“Gotta catch me first!” I yell back. There’s just a flash of Ang’s red, laughing face before I go racing through the snow, kicking up white powder around my boots.
My little sister can be a royal pain in the ass.
But I’m grinning because she breaks the rules all the time in these games, and it’s only fair she has a taste of her own medicine.
Her and that boy down the street never saw it coming when I crept out under the frozen bushes a minute ago and pelted them both in the back of the head.
I want them to chase me.
“Drake, hurry!” I hear Winnie’s voice from our secret fort, barely a whisper.
It’s just a neat hole hollowed out in one of the big snow drifts, a cave we dug a couple hours ago.
I accidentally tackle her as I go bounding in. She goes down laughing and we roll together in the small space. I sure am glad it’s cold enough to make those walls extra thick; otherwise, I might’ve caved in the roof and buried us alive.
“Up, up! They’re coming,” she whispers, snickering the whole time, pushing me off her.
I scramble, look behind me, searching for our secret stash.
Bingo. We must have thirty fresh snowballs tucked away, ready for seven little screamers who think it’s their day to whip us.
“Winnie, you gotta –”
Nope. She’s already on it. I’m the slowpoke as my best friend pops up and pitches three big white cannonballs. Lightning fast.
Holy crap. I’m glad she’s on my side.
But that’s how it always is with Winnie. I met her last summer at school. She’s this shy, quiet girl from the reservation right outside Kinsleyville, and I found out real quick she packs a mean punch.
“Hurry, hurry!” she urges me on. I blink and catch up, throwing one volley after the next, aiming at the little punks who don’t know they’re charging into an ambush.
Mikey McGregor takes one to the cheek and smarts, and he’s the first to turn tail.
I’m laughing when I see the confusion on Ang’s face. Her friend, that Jenny girl, spins around and squeals, trying to pull Ang along with her.
“Retreaaaaaaaaat!” I scream out, cupping one hand over my mouth. Winnie loses it next to me, laughing so hard she can’t keep going.
Angie turns. Good timing. She’s got less than three seconds before I whip another snowball right at their feet, and this one’s big.
A second later, I’m watching their bright-colored coats disappear in a rush over the next snow hill.
Wow.
“Hot dang, Winnie. It worked,” I say.
She flashes me a smile that’s infectious. Her braces make her look like a little shark. “Told ya, Drakie. And here you just wanted to hideout in your dad’s machine shed.”
“All right, all right, you win, Winnie. Now I know why they call you that,” I say, scrunching my face.
She throws an elbow in my ribs so hard I drop the snowball I’m holding. “No friendly fire!”
Giggling, I tackle her instead, and we enjoy our little triumph. Figure we’ve got five minutes before Ang works up the courage to rush over again with those kids, and this time they’ll know what’s coming.
“Come on. We gotta go to the next fort. They’ll be on us like flies,” I say, helping her up.
H
er little hand is so cold, even through her mitten.
“Lead the way, Drakie. That’s what you’re good for, helping us through the snow when I get stuck. And sometimes fightin’, I guess.” Her tongue flashes out, quick and teasing.
“I’m good at looking out for you, Winnie. You do the same for me. We’re a good team.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she says, shifting back into that shy little eight-year-old girl you’d never think would be the first to back me up like a tiger when push comes to shove. I like it like that. “You think it’ll always be like this?”
“Like winter? Yeah, I hope so! Nothing else I’d rather be doing than stomping around having snowball fights and sled races.”
She smiles, but not really. Almost...sad?
“Wish it’d be this way forever and ever. But it won’t be,” she says. “You seen the way grownups live?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, boring. We can’t let it happen to us. I’m not gonna stay in this town. Gonna go off and join the Army someday and do all kinds of cool stuff. You know they get to drive tanks? Tanks, Winnie!”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Bet that’s a lot tougher than your old man letting you drive his mower. Sounds fun. I dunno if I’ll ever leave.”
“You gotta promise yourself you will. Just make up your mind and do it. We’ll blow this place together. We have to try.” I give her another smile, wondering why she seems so weird and serious today.
“Yeah, but...what if I don’t make it? You gonna just leave and never be my friend?”
I stop for a second. We’re almost at our new fort, and I don’t really get why Winnie has these tears in her eyes. Is it the cold? Or just girls feeling too much? I heard that can happen.
“Winnie, hey, hey, we’re gonna get out of here. Ten more years and–”
“What if I’m stuck? What if I can’t? Mama always says leaving’s just stupid. She says I better figure it out soon. Maybe she’s right. She’s been here her whole life at the Rez.”
I pause, real quiet, hating the lonely tear rolling down her cheek. “Don’t matter, Winnie. I’ll be coming home, and I’ll still be your friend if you wanna be mine?”
She nods, vigorously, a slow smile rubbing the sadness off her face. Then we turn, hearing the rapid crunch of kids tromping through the snow, coming after us.
