Bring the Rain

by Lizzy Charles

  “Peter, here we come! This is going to be fun!” Gina yells into the wind. It looks like she’s set to have a good night. My gut relaxes. I didn’t realize I’d been so nervous about drinking with Gina again.

  Country music pumps out of an old white farmhouse as we pull into the yard. As we walk to the front porch, I notice the paint chipping off the spindles. A cowboy hat seems to swallow a blond girl in a love handle hugging dress. We swerve around a sloppy kissing couple on the porch and in through the front door. There’s a bucket with a sign for two dollars and some skinny dude sitting on a stool. I toss in two dollars for a yellow, plastic cup and we are directed toward the keg. I squeeze the thin plastic, the crinkling addicting to my palm as we wait in line. The place smells like cigars, cedar, and booze. This is so far from the Manhattan roof-top bars I sneak into back home.

  Hick house parties, my new social reality.

  I down a cup of watery beer as I weave with Gina through the crowd of cowboy hats and girls in Daisey Dukes and tube tops. My ballet flats, skinny jeans, and loose teal scarf are a small freak show here. Smiling, I wave back at their stares. Lots of cliche cowboy nods with the tip of their hat follow. It’s sort of sweet and I actually giggle. My hand flies over my mouth, silencing it. It’s a fluke. I refuse to believe there’s anything redeeming about this place.

  “Peter,” Gina calls out. A tall guy with a white cowboy hat spins around. Unlike many of the guys here, his teeth are brilliant and white, meeting Gina with a movie-star smile. As he hugs her, I can’t help but notice his hand lingering a little low on her back. Clearly, Gina has read this situation wrong. I step back, giving them space.

  “Remember Autumn?” Gina looks at me and makes much too obvious of a wink.

  “Of course. Welcome home,” he says.

  Home? The implication makes my stomach turn over. “Thanks, nice to see you again.” I say instead. Gina leans in toward him naturally so I redirect the conversation back towards her. “I’m lucky I’ve got Gina to help me reintegrate while I’m here.”

  “Yeah,” he looks back at her and his eyes seem glued to her face. “She’s pretty great.” He reaches out, playfully pulling on one of her red curls.

  Gina holds up her plastic cup, “I’ll cheers to that!” We clunk our cups together and finish them off. Peter offers to get Gina a refill. He strides away to the kitchen with Gina’s eyes plastered to his butt.

  “So hot, right?” Gina says with a squeal once he’s out of sight.

  “Yes, and he’s all yours. He’s totally into you.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. I know.” I push her forward. “Go. Be merry. Be fruitful. But don’t get pregnant.” She rolls her eyes, whispering thanks as she exits the room.

  I sigh. Finding myself alone at a Podunk house party on my first night here really isn’t my top choice, but at least I have a solid coping strategy. I hand over my cup to the guy at the keg, waving for him to cut it off when it’s three fourths full. Perfect. This is enough to do the trick. I’ve always been an embarrassing lightweight.

  ***

  Light arms make for easy dancing, even to drawn out country tunes. Turns out, cowboys aren’t bad dancers. They know where to put their hands on your waist to help you sway. They share well too, making sure a new hat accompanies each tune. When my chest burns, I know I've hit my limit. "Sorry," I say to the only guy at the party wearing a baseball cap. "I need a break."

  "I can take you outside if you want?" This brown-haired-brute's eyes are a bit swollen, and lips raw. I swear I saw him making out on the steps during my last spin on the dance floor.

  "No thanks, I'm good on my own." I quickly zigzag through the crowd and slip out the back kitchen door. If it wasn't for the couple making out in a hammock, I would’ve barreled right into the gray weave. There's a deserted tree a few hundred yards out from the house. Brushing my ballet flats through the crisp grass, I do a quick snake check. Phew. I take a seat, tilting my head toward the sky. The darkness is alive and glittering.

  I breathe out, the beauty above. Stars like this never happen at home. Here, Hercules and the dippers are too obvious. And, with a jostle of my memory, I can find the Queen and the Dragon too. I wish I had my paints and a canvas so I could try to capture it. I’d make my own Starry Night, but my brush strokes would be looser here than Van Gogh’s.

  A breeze moves through my hair, reminding me to take a deep breath. It instantly relaxes me; somehow one breath here is better than any oxygen bar in the city. I hate to admit it, but that’s another thing this place has going for it. It’s so much easier to breathe here.

  “Can I join you?” a husky voice says from behind. I turn to find a tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired cowboy leaning against the tree. He doesn’t wait for my answer; rather he slinks down the trunk to sit next to me. His eyes turn toward the sky, but, even though I know it’s rude, my eyes can’t leave his face. His nose is almost perfect. It’d be easy to sketch with a soft pencil.

  “Andromeda,” he interrupts my artistic vision, pointing up at the sky. “The Greater Bear,” he traces the outline in the air. “And my favorite…”

  “Oh, please don’t say something about your big dipper.” I put the yellow cup to my lips, finishing my third refill. It slides past my throat. Finally, the beer’s tasting good now.

  “Actually, my prime constellation is Aries, the ram. That line though? Golden. I'll use it next time.”

  “A goat?”

  He smiles with a silent laugh and shrugs. “Sounds lame,” he turns toward me. His eyes sparkle and my heart jumps into my throat. His jaw is strong and chest obviously solid under his white button down shirt. “But it’s not.” He flips over my hand, tracing the constellation on my palm. Tingles crawl up my arm.

  Now, this is a real cowboy.

  “Aries is Zeus, in disguise. Ordinary, but it's full of power. Cool, huh?”

  He lets go of my hand and returns his gaze to the stars.

  My heart sinks. I want him to look at me. I’m not letting this cowboy get away. I lean in, close to his ear. “What kind of power?” I whisper. After Mom ditching me for Paris, I could use a little fun, and, as my hand caresses his rock hard biceps, I can’t help welcoming a distraction.

  He doesn’t answer yet also doesn’t move away from my touch. Good. I take a deep breath and leap. If he didn’t like me, he’d have moved away already. I kiss the stubble on his jaw and he stills like a statue so I flip my leg over him, sliding onto his lap. The constellations spin. I nibble at his lips. His breathing deepens. Those full lips though? They don't even flinch. I pull back, repositioning to press my lips down his jaw line and then make my way up toward his earlobe.

  “It’s not fun if you don’t play,” I whisper.

  He laughs, allowing my lips to return to his. He responds now, kissing me with a soft, steady pressure and pulling me close to his rock hard chest. I’ve never been held so securely. My heart trembles and my muscles melt.

  “Okay darlin’,” he says, pressing his lips against mine, giving me a kiss that reminds me of chocolate and lemons, before gently helping me off his lap. “I think it’s time we go.”

  “Sure,” I whisper. The ground becomes wavy water and my hand disappears in his as I struggle to stand. Take me away cowboy.

  He lifts me, giving me his arm to lean on as he leads me through the house, passing Gina and Peter making out on the stairs. He stops, pulling Gina away too.

  “Colt? What’re-ya-doin’?” she slurs.

  He drops my hand, and it burns with the absence of his touch. “Do you have a ride home Gina?”

  She shakes her head as Peter pulls her back to the step next to him. “I drove Autumn.”

  Colt unwraps Peter’s arms. “Which is why I'm taking you both home.”

  Peter stands up. "Hey man, if she wants to stay, she should."

  Colt only has to point to him and say, "Peter. Come on, you know not to try that with me." Peter nods, holding his hands up in some myster
ious man exchange.

  “Fine,” Gina stumbles like a turkey into Colt’s arms. So funny. I laugh so hard, my goose noise sneaks in too.

  “Was that a chortle?” Colt lifts his brow with a cocky grin.

  “Chortles are very sexy.” I throw my shoulders back.

  He laughs as he wraps his arm around Gina to support her and takes my hand, leading us out the front door. “Into the truck, girls.”

  It’s warm in the truck, and with Gina to lean on, comfy too. Sleep takes me away with a few bumps of the road. Gina’s shoulder is soon replaced with a leather jacket. The smell lulls me in and out of sleep with Colt’s whistled tune. My shoulder rocks and I wake. He reaches behind me, propping me up.

  “Want some?” He hands me a yellow cup of that watered down beer.

  “Thanks.” I say. I am so thirsty. I put the plastic to my mouth, taking a small sip. The liquid slides past my tongue. This must be from the bottom of the barrel because it doesn’t taste right. It’s thin and a struggle to swallow. First goal of the summer, do not spit on the hot cowboy.

  “Like it?”

  “It’s super watery.”

  “Yeah.” He laughs and my stomach tickles with the sound. “Have a few more sips.” He holds the cup back to my lips.

  I sip again. It’s horrid, laced with iron and something else that I can’t pinpoint. It’s so hard to slide past my throat. What is he, like, trying to drug me? I hold the liquid poison in my mouth.

  Wait. What if he is trying to drug me? Holy crap. While he's focused on the road, I reach for the door handle, trying not to shake. I’m in a truck with a total stranger and his muscles of steel, in the middle of nowhere. What's wrong with me? I’d never let this happen in New York. My heart beats in rhythm with the buzz in my ears. I need an escape plan, like now.

  He flips off the headlights. We’re in complete darkness except for the stars. I glance out the window; a light from a lone farm-house is about a mile away. No one will hear me scream.

  We’re completely alone.

  My fingers rest on the door’s latch. How can I be so stupid? Over the pasture, a house light twinkles in the distance. The corn is hip high. If I crouch and dart, I might make it. This is my chance. I let the drugged liquid spray out of my mouth, dousing his face. With a tug, the door flies open and I bolt.

  “Whoa, girl!” He calls from behind like I’m a freakin’ cow.

  I dart but my legs are jelly. I lurch forward in lazy zigzags for a few steps before I crumble to the ground. My ear stings as a blade of grass brushes against it. Every blade feels so intense, like knives slicing into my skin. What type of drug is this? I try to concentrate on the prairie grass before me as I rise. I swear, hating myself for drinking, as I struggle to move where I want to go.

  A hand squeezes my shoulder

  “Autumn,” he says in a low steady voice. “What’s wrong?”

  He picks me up, stabilizing me before I dart again. The ground turns over with a thunk, and my mouth fills with dirt.

  “You—rape. No.” I gasp as I clutch grasp to pull me up. Adrenaline surges and the you-tube video I watched on self-defense class flashes through my mind. Step one: kick him in the shin. Step two: jab my fingers into his throat. Step three: push into his rib. Step four: charge the heel of my hand into his nose. Step five: kick him in the balls.

  “No, no.” His hands lift me again from the ground as I try to kick. He jumps away. “I’m NOT trying to rape you.”

  “For real, Autumn. Honestly.” He takes a few more steps away as he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a floppy wallet. He thumbs through and tosses a paper to me. It flutters to the ground and after a few seconds of studying him I drag it over with my shoe.

  The paper’s thin. The words Gallaber Ranch scrolls across the top line of the pay stub.

  “Your Dad background checks all employees, right? He wouldn’t hire me if I was a rapist.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” I say with a glare.

  “Crap. I know, I just.” He holds up his hands. “I’m not trying to rape you. I promise.”

  “Then why’d you pull over on the road? Turn off your headlights?” He takes a step toward me and I try to take a defensive stance, but the ground spins and I stumble out of it.

  “Okay, let’s take a breath together.” He nods, taking one and acting like I’m crazy enough to repeat him. I puff out my cheeks, holding my breath, but this only makes him smile.

  “Autumn, I get how what I did could be interpreted as creepy. I should have thought first before doing that.” He grabs a crusty blade of grass and sticks it in the corner of his mouth like an old fashioned cowboy.

  “I pulled over to give you the chance of sobering up. The headlights had to go because Peggy,” he nods towards the battered red truck, “has a short battery life.”

  “Then why’d you try to drug me?”

  “Drug you?”

  “The beer. It tasted wrong.”

  Suddenly, he is laughing. Frickin’ hand slapping his leg type laughing!

  “Do you think this is funny?” The crushing panic in my chest's relented, but I’m still compelled to karate chop him in the throat, even if he wasn’t trying to rape me.

  He coughs but can’t hide a sly smile. “I gave you water.”

  “Water? Water doesn’t taste like that.”

  “It's well water, from the house’s tap. I didn’t want you showing up at home drunk on your first night.”

  My face burns as my tongue identifies that iron flavor. I don’t remember it tasting so strong when I used to drink out of the hose as a child. His story makes sense, but something still nags at me. “Why do you care if I go home drunk? And how do you know this is my first night here?”

  “Your Dad’s been talking you up forever.” He glances at his cell, “Crap. It’s late. I’ve got to get you home.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Twelve o’ eight. You’re eight minutes late.”

  “Wait… Why are you aware of my curfew?”

  He sighs as he taps his cell’s screen. “Shoot. Because…” He takes a step closer and again I back away. “Okay, will you at least catch this if I throw it to you?”

  I raise my eyebrows as he tosses me his phone. It arcs in the air but my arms don’t move. Thud. It lands on the ground right in front of me.

  “Oops.” I shrug.

  He throws up his hands and groans. “Just read the text.”

  I touch the screen, lighting up a message from Chris G at 9:38pm.

  Chris G: Autumn is heading out with Gina. Party, I assume. Can you watch out for her? Curfew = Midnight.

  My stomach slams into my feet. I haven’t even been home twelve hours and Dad already doesn’t trust me-- or respect me. Hell, he sent a stranger to monitor me. That crosses any decent line of privacy. Who the hell has eyes in so many places? His over-bearing parenting will suffocate me.

  Colt kicks a mound of dirt. I toss the phone back to him. What’s the point of me staying? There’s got to be a flight out of Oklahoma soon… or at least a train. He bends to grab his cell. Perfect. With a light hip check, he goes sprawling. Eat dirt, cowboy. The telling thud of his body on the cracked ground is bliss. I cross my fingers, praying he broke his phone.

  “Whoa, girl. What’s that for?”

  “First off, I’m not a cow so don’t address me as one. Second, that’s for hitting on me at the party when you were supposed to be babysitting.”

  He chuckles, walking behind me now. “Hmm, I believe you kissed me. It’s not fun if you won’t play the game.”

  Oh, man. God, why did you invent cowboys? I jump in the truck and slide across the pleather into the driver’s seat.

  “Sorry, no one drives Peggy but me.” He stands at the passenger door, patting the seat. The silly blade of grass between his lips bobs as he flicks it to the other corner of his lips with a grin.

  “No way. You blew it when you went all super creep on me. Keys, please.”

 
; “I wouldn't do anything to you! Come on, you know that now, right?”

  “Yup, but that doesn’t make me care. Keys,” I demand with my palm open.

  “Not happenin', princess.”

  “How pissed do you think my Dad’ll be?”

  “I’ll be able to handle Chris. It’s not worth you drinking and driving. Hell would have to swallow me whole before I’m letting you behind my wheel.” The words roll off his tongue in a thick southern accent. With each minute, he’s becoming more of a cliché cowboy. He pops up his elbow on the hood. “If you want to drive, we have to wait it out.”

  “Are you kidding me? What am I going to hit… corn?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He tips his hat. “That’s not happening.” He taps the truck before sliding down and taking a seat near the tire. “It’s not my curfew we’re violating,” he adds.

  I bang the steering wheel. Crap. I know he should drive me but on principal I can’t let him win this. Dad’s probably sleeping anyway since he needs to be up at dawn. Waiting it out won’t kill me.

  Knowing I can’t get a Wi-Fi or cell signal out here, I stretch out across the bucket seat and doze. About an hour later, Colt reaches through the window. “Good morning.” He jingles the keys over me. I take them, quick to plunge them into the ignition. Maybe I can get this baby moving before he gets in the passenger seat. The dingy truck chokes to life as I put my foot down on the pedal. She roars louder but nothing happens.

  Colt laughs as he opens the passenger door. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “She’s not working,” I grumble.

  “Nope, she ain’t.”

  I push on the pedal again, receiving a good roar from the engine. We still don’t move an inch though. I try the other pedal in the left corner, getting absolutely nothing.