Cowboy Professor_A Western Romance Love Story

by Ivy Jordan

  “Really?” I laughed.

  “It’s a mess. Then there’s my dad. He’s the biggest jackass that ever existed.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He won’t say much, but he’ll be laughing at you in his head. The world is his personal joke. It’s infuriating. They’re both business moguls, materialistic, shallow—everything you’d expect from a pair of WASPy country club kids. It’s a bad cliché.”

  “You’re nothing like that.”

  “No, I’m not. I guess it’s because they kept me at school for so long. The evil didn’t rub off on me.”

  “I’m sure I can handle it.”

  “Just smile and nod.”

  Trees were popping up on both sides. The road was winding through the hills, through a light forest of maple, birch and ash with tan boulders spotting the hillsides. We moved uphill, around a bend, then began to slow.

  “This is it,” Channing pointed straight ahead at a space between the trees. We turned in and wound through the forest, uphill. Eventually, the trees began to give way to wild grass. At the crest of the hill, we stopped at a wrought iron gate built into a red brick wall. I couldn’t see anything past it.

  There was a brief wait. Then, the gate started to open up to a meticulously tailored lawn, and a gravel drive leading up to Channing’s house. It was more of a complex than a house. The main building had multiple stories with a white, Greek façade with pillars. It was a classical look. To the right and left I saw smaller buildings, what looked like a garage and smaller guest houses.

  There were shaped trees and a tailored column of bushes lining the drive. Channing had the car parked out front, where a man wearing a white polo shirt and Bluetooth headset was waiting. When we stopped, the man ran up, and Channing gave him the keys.

  “Valet,” he said.

  “Okay,” I shrugged.

  “He’ll take our bags, too.” Channing got out, and I followed him up the steps leading to the front entrance. The house had a pair of hand-carved, nine-foot tall doors. When we got to the top of the steps, they opened up, and a young woman with short blonde hair and a white polo shirt led us inside.

  The house had a marble foyer, staircase, and chandelier. There were little things, like flowers sitting on tables and an old oil painting, that gave it a feminine touch. We were taken through a white double door to the left into what must’ve been a parlor.

  There was white Victorian furniture, made from dark wood, and blue, ruffled curtains. Channing and I both sat down on a straight-backed couch in the center of the room. The girl who led us there disappeared through another door across from where we came in.

  I turned to Channing, who was staring at the floor with his arms wrapped around his chest. “I hope they don’t get to you.”

  “You’re still stuck on that? No, Channing, come on. It won’t matter what they’re like. They’re not you. From what you say, it sounds like you guys are totally different people.”

  “We are. I hope you know that.”

  “I do.” I placed my hand on his.

  The door the girl disappeared through burst open, and Channing’s mom walked out. She was tall with stringy blonde hair that rested just below her shoulders. She was wearing a bright blue skirt suit with padded shoulders and clumpy, bright red lipstick.

  “Is this her?” She strode in and took a seat on the couch across from us. When she sat down and crossed her legs, she gave me a smile. “What’s your name?”

  “Ava,” I said.

  “I’m Marie. Do you go to school with Channing?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “How did you two meet?”

  “We—”

  “Mom, don’t ask questions.”

  “I was just…”

  “No questions,” Channing insisted.

  “Fine.” She reached down her blouse and pulled out a pack of menthols. She lit one up and offered me the pack.

  I waved it away.

  “She doesn’t smoke, Mom.” Channing was staring her down.

  She leaned back and lit her cigarette. “What are your intentions with my son?”

  “Mom, stop!”

  “I want to know about your life, Channing.”

  “Don’t interrogate us.”

  “Fine, be down in 20 minutes.” She got up and walked off.

  A woman came and led us both to our rooms. Marie had a guest room made up for me. It was simple, with a twin bed, an empty closet, and an adjoining bathroom. Channing’s room was on the floor above. He’d have to walk all the way up the hall and down the stairs to get into my room. Something told me that was on purpose. It didn’t stop him.

  He knocked on my door just as soon as I was setting my bag down. I quickly let him in, closed the door, and turned around to see him staring down at me. He wrapped his arm around my waist, ducked down, and kissed me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said when he pulled back.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s kind of funny, actually, watching you get all heated about it. The woman’s evil.”

  “She’s Satan herself.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried.” He kissed me and swept the back of his hand across my cheek. A chill rushed down my back.

  “I guess we’re supposed to have drinks on the veranda. Is there a proper attire?”

  “Don’t try to impress anyone. Give them both hell.” He was smiling down at me.

  “I’ll get drunk and make a scene.”

  “At dinner,” he laughed.

  “I’ll break my plate over your Mom’s head and set the tablecloth on fire.” I reached up and pecked Channing on the lips.

  “Can I record?” he asked.

  “The video will go viral, and we’ll make millions. You can give up your inheritance.”

  He pecked me on the lips. “This is going to be fun.”

  “It will be if you don’t worry. You have to trust me, okay?” I met his eyes.

  “Okay,” he kissed me again. Then he left me to get changed. The house was beautiful. Everything was simple but elegant. The upstairs floors were wood, and in the halls, there were tables with flowers and paintings hanging above them.

  When Channing came to get me, he took me down the stairs, out onto a closed-off patio area where tables and a miniature bar had been setup. Marie was waiting for us in a cloud of smoke at a table at the far end. Behind her was a mountain of jasmine engulfing the patio wall.

  We sat down across from her, and a man came up to take our orders. It was all so formal. The man was stiff and impersonal. When he walked back to make our drinks, he seemed to know what he was doing. Why couldn’t this woman just be? Why did she need to have a formal bar set up on her patio? Why did she make such a big to-do about having drinks outside?

  They had a fully stocked bar with a big display case showing off expensive bottles, and even a refrigerator full of beer, wine, and wine coolers. It was too much, way too much. I couldn’t possibly imagine anyone needing all that.

  She made a big show of herself leaning back, hitting her cigarette as if all eyes were on her, and they were. “Well, tell me about yourself, Ava.”

  “Mom,” Channing began.

  “No,” she interrupted, “it’s not fair. I should know something about her. She’s in my house.”

  “But…”

  “It’s okay. What would you like to know?”

  “I don’t know. What are you majoring in? How did you meet?”

  “I’m a business major.” I lied. “A successful business major.” Had I said anything different, they wouldn’t have taken me seriously.

  “I saw your chemistry grade,” Marie moved on to Channing. “You’ve got a 74 percent. What is that?”

  “I’m working my butt off.”

  “Uh-huh,” Marie took a hit of her cigarette and blew the smoke up. I had to cover my nose to keep from coughing. “You need to get your grades up. Are you spending all your time with her? Is that it?” She turned to me.

&n
bsp; “He’s working hard.”

  “Is he going out drinking?”

  “No, he’s smart. Ms. Barker—”

  “Mrs. Barker,” she interrupted. “My husband should be with us soon.”

  “Mrs. Barker, he’s doing what it takes to pass. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “You’re just saying that because he’s your boyfriend.” Marie took a hit of her cigarette and let the smoke flow out of her nose. “You’d probably say anything for him. Look at you two. You look like you’re ready to pounce on each other.”

  “Mom!”

  The bartender brought us our beers. Marie was sipping on a Bloody Mary. Judging by the way she moved, I could tell that she’d been drinking for a while. Channing was staring down at the ground. He was tensed up, visibly uncomfortable. His mother laughed, as if she fed on his discontent, and sucked down the last of her cigarette.

  She reached and put it out in the ashtray in the middle of the table. “I’m sorry. I know I’m intense.” She took a long drink. Her eyes were starting to droop.

  “Mom, you’re drunk,” Channing said. “Go lay down.”

  “I’m fine.” Her head fell a little. She propped it back up and took another drink. Then she fumbled around for her cigarettes on the table.

  “Jesus,” Channing said.

  Her fingers wrapped around the pack. She picked it up and pulled one out. She pressed it between her lips and tried to light it, but for some reason, she couldn’t get the flame to the tip of the cigarette. She was too drunk. She couldn’t see what she was doing.

  Her eyes were starting to droop lower.

  “Let’s go,” Channing said.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “She’ll wake up after a bit. Come on,” he stood up and motioned for me to follow him back into the house. He hooked his arm in mine and walked me back up the stairs to his room. It was small and simple, with a desk in the corner and a little bed. It was kind of intimate, seeing where he lived.

  The covers on the bed were messed up, and there were papers scattered over his desk. There was a flat screen TV across from his bed with stacks of video game cases, and two controllers sitting on the second shelf. He didn’t decorate, or even put up posters. It was plain, but elegant, just like Channing.

  He plopped down on the bed, and I laid down next to him. We naturally flowed together. He wrapped his arm around my back and pulled me closer so that our chests were touching. His lips were warm, his breath hot.

  My breath caught, and my stomach jolted. His hand pressed against my back and I wrapped my arms around him. This wasn’t sex: just a moment together, as sweet as anything else. He turned over, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

  I don’t know if either of us slept, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did I. It would’ve spoiled the sanctity of the moment. We spoke with touch. His arm draped down my back, his fingers tracing up and down my spine. His breath, and the growing darkness.

  He shifted, and I heard footsteps coming down the hall.

  “Should I hide or something?” I asked.

  “No,” he said when he stood up to go crack open the door. It was one of the staff members in the same white polo shirt and jeans I’d seen the others wearing. Channing went outside to talk to him.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so when he walked back in, I asked, “What was that about?”

  “They want us for dinner.”

  “Should we change?” I asked.

  “I suppose we should.” He slumped back on the bed, and I started to get up. He pulled me back down by the wrist and crashed our lips together. Neither one of us wanted me to leave, but I had to go. When I got back up to my room, I decided to take my time getting ready.

  Nicole bought me a makeup palette with a row of color; pinks, purples, and blues, and lipsticks at the bottom. I chose a rosy pink, and turned on the curling iron while I chose my outfit. I didn’t bring anything formal, but I did have a nice white blouse with short, puffed sleeves, and a pair of black slacks.

  When I was done, I used the curling iron to add a wave that curled in just past my shoulders. I looked good, sophisticated and elegant. Channing came to knock on my door when I was adding a spritz of perfume.

  The second he saw me, his lips were on mine. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he growled.

  I smiled and let him hook his arm in mine so he could lead me down the stairs into the foyer, where a young woman was waiting to take us into the dining hall. The room was huge, with two tables traveling its length, and in the back corner, there was another, smaller table. It was sitting next to a fireplace with a small vase in the center. There, Marie was sitting with the man that must’ve been Channing’s father.

  He looked young, 50 at most, with slicked back, bleached-blond hair and a dark bush on his top lip. He was wearing an expensive pinstriped suit with a cigar resting in the side of his mouth. The mildewing tobacco was spewing an unbearable cloud that stuck in the air. He didn’t acknowledge me when I walked up, or when we sat down. He was too busy with his phone and his glass of whiskey.

  He slammed what was left in his glass, then lifted the bottle sitting next to him to pour himself another. He tipped it in and swirled it around, as if that made him a connoisseur, and not just a drunk. The bright red tone of his face betrayed him when he looked up at me. It was as if he just realized I existed.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ava.” He narrowed his eyes at me as if he could see through me.

  “Ava, it’s nice to meet you.” He lifted his hand across the table, squeezed mine, and jerked it around wildly. It took forever for him to stop.

  When he finally let my hand go, I would’ve been relieved had it not been for his bloodshot eyes trained on mine. It was quite disarming. Marie joined in, and now I was the subject of scrutiny.

  “This is my father, John,” Channing cut through the silence. “John, this is my girlfriend. Can we please move on?”

  “I saw your transcripts. You’re averaging less than 75 percent in your classes. In some, you’re barely passing. Boy, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how much money I put into that place?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “I don’t buy it. We both know you’re going to fail. You’re a fuck up.”

  Channing’s fist, sitting on the table next to me, clenched up. “I’m not going to listen to this crap. I’m an adult. I can leave.”

  “You’d better stay if you want your credit card to work. Now, I mean it. Get it together.”

  “Fine.”

  I rested my hand on Channing’s clenched fist, and he eased up. Marie saw me do it and caught my eye. “How long have you two been together?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mom.” The kitchen door opened up, and a man wearing a tuxedo walked out, pushing a food cart. He was in costume. It was all for show, a display of wealth maybe, or maybe they were used to having the routine. Channing said they were old money. They probably had people serving their food like that since they were children. Either way, it was pretentious and unnecessary.

  When the man set down our streaked, silver platters, he raised the lids so the smell of the chicken soup hit me in the face. There was nothing special about the food. It was cheap. The vegetables had been boiled too long, and the noodles were soggy, though they did look homemade.

  Nobody ate except for Channing, who was using his food as a barrier for any further conversation. I decided to follow his lead and lifted the spoon to my lips.

  “What’s your major, Ava?” John asked.

  “Business,” I slurped the broth.

  “Sensible choice,” he puffed on his cigar. “But it ain’t gonna work. You don’t have the backbone.”

  Channing’s fist clenched, and his knuckles went white. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

  “Hey, I call them like I see them, kid. She ain’t with it. Look at her—cheap makeup, bargain store clothes. You don’t know what you’re doing.”


  Channing leaned forward and grabbed the bottom of his chair. He was struggling to hold himself back. Neither of us could say a word. John was the king of his castle, and we were under his roof. He could kick us out if we said the wrong thing, but I could tell that he was pushing Channing to the edge.

  “Listen, sweetheart; I don’t mean to be rude. Enjoy your weekend. Have a little fun, but don’t get attached.”

  Marie nodded in agreement. I stuck to my soup, Channing did the same. I wanted him to get me out of there, but that wasn’t going to happen. They had Channing under the interrogation lamp for some reason. Maybe it was his grades. Whatever it was, they brought him there to torture him over it. This crap was intentional. They were screwing with us.

  John downed two more glasses of whiskey, and let the server take his untouched soup. Next, we were given a dry Caesar salad with wilted lettuce. Neither John nor Marie touched it, but mine was gone the second it hit my plate.

  I was starving, and I needed something to take up the time. The tension was horrific. The silence was cut only by the sound of Marie puffing on her cigarette, and our forks as we shoveled food in our mouths.

  Nobody said anything until the main course was set down. It was a dry, plain chicken breast with asparagus and greens. Marie finished her third cigarette and dropped it in her water glass. “What are your grades like, Ava?”

  “I’ve got nearly 100 percent in most of my classes.”

  “How do we know we can trust you?” John asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Well, you’re in our house.” Marie lit another cigarette.

  “What’s home like? What do your parents do?” John asked.

  “I don’t think either of us wants your approval.”

  “That’s right,” Channing said, “so ask all you want. We’re impervious to your bullshit.” He chomped down on a piece of asparagus.

  “Boy, you’ve got a mouth on you,” John slammed the rest of his whiskey. “Don’t you come in here talking to me like that. You got it?”

  Channing went back to his food. After a moment he said, “So why’d you want to see me? Is it my grades?”

  “Damned right. You need to straighten yourself out.”

  “Fine.” He ate the rest of his asparagus.