“Wow.”
“Yeah. He sort of saved us. So now I work full-time for your dad and we still get to live in the yellow house. I get a small paycheck now which I place in savings to help pay for school. He’s a good man.”
“I guess.”
“You guess? Trust me, he is.”
The blond, curvy woman at the bar slides off her stool and chooses another next to a middle-aged guy. She laughs, placing her hand on the cowboy’s shoulder. Home-wrecker. Colt’s eyes follow mine.
“Do you know her?” he asks. I shake my head. “That’s Julie Booker, the new elementary school teacher.”
Oh my God. I’ve turned into a crazy middle-aged Midwestern woman-hater. I’m pathetic.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I just… she reminded me of someone.”
Colt reaches across the table and taps my finger. “What’s up? Why so hard on Chris, and why the death stare at other women?”
I bite my lip, wondering if I should tell him. More like needing to. If only Dad wasn’t his boss. Sharing this could be completely inappropriate.
Colt takes a sip of his Coke Zero. “You know what? Never mind. It’s not my place to know. I’m sorry.”
And that’s how I know he’s safe to tell.
“My parents divorced because my dad cheated on my mom, one night at a bar. Probably this bar.”
Colt’s expression softens and the tip of his finger reaches forward to rest on mine. “I’m sorry, Autumn. That must have been hard.”
“It was, and it still is. Dad only told me about it a few weeks ago. I’m still trying to make sense of it. Of how, of why… ya know?”
“He messed up.”
“A lot.”
Colt nods in agreement as Jenny brings our food to the table. “Gobble up,” she says. She watches me as I take my first bite. The flavors melt together perfectly—fresh tomatoes, basil, mozzarella and moist chicken make the perfect bite.
“Good?” she asks.
“Amazing. Very impressive.”
“Fantastic. The chef will enjoy hearing it.”
I take another bite as Colt studies his burger. “Aren't you hungry, cowboy?”
He smiles faintly, but doesn’t pick it up. His ice blue eyes meet mine. “You know your Dad talks about you all the time?” he says. “The first time I met him he told me about how you were such a great rider. He never shuts up about you, actually.”
“Oh?” Well, that’s nice to say, but harder to prove.
“He does. He showed me the article featuring your artwork in your school’s newspaper.”
Sixth grade.
“He told everyone about the time you got detention for kicking a guy in the balls during the Super Bowl’s halftime one year.”
Ninth grade.
“And my personal favorite he shared last summer when I was trying to get out of work early.”
“And what was that?”
“How you successfully used PMS as an excuse to get out of your gym final.”
Tenth grade. “Our gym had less space than half a basketball court. I wasn’t going to run back and forth for half an hour while they timed my mile.”
His eyebrow lifts with a cocky grin. “Would you kill me if I knew how old you were when you first got your period?”
The fork misses my mouth and coleslaw falls to the table.
“You were eleven.” Colt laughs, then bites into his burger.
“How? Why?” My face is no doubt as red as a stop sign. I don’t know who I’m going to kill first, Colt or Dad.
“Don’t worry, that I heard while eavesdropping.” He shrugs. “Your dad and my mom were chatting about a Time Magazine article about girls maturing early. I was supposed to be watching Chase, but I found their conversation much more interesting. Don’t sweat it, it’s not like I’ve told anyone.” He tosses me his crooked smile, and it takes all my strength to not grin back.
“So, are we going to talk about my menstrual cycle now?”
He scrunches up his face. “I’d rather not, but if that’s what you do with friends, I’m willing.”
“Ahh, so that’s how I should classify you then. Good, I’ve been having trouble sorting you out.”
“As what?”
“Just one of the girls.”
His eyes bulge a bit as he takes a quick sip of his soda. “Now that, I don’t want.” He wipes his mouth from his napkin and holds out his hand. “Come on. You need a spin around this dance floor.” He pulls me from the booth as the cowboy on stage strums his guitar.
“Oh no, I’m a really horrid dancer.”
“Oh yes." His hand moves to the small of my back and leading me across the floor. No one else is even out here yet. He’s crazy. Everyone’s got to be watching us. He doesn’t seem to care though as he takes my arms and wraps them around his neck.
“Friends can dance,” he says, but I sense an undeniable hormonal edge to his voice. My legs are suddenly jelly, and, with his bright blue eyes staring down at me, I’d have to be a super-human to resist his charm.
The band joins the guitarist as we sway. His body is neither too close nor too far away. I can’t rest my head on his shoulder, but I can feel him each time he breathes. He spins me in and out during the song’s chorus.
“So is this so bad?” he whispers in my ear. “And I’m not talking about the band.” He twirls me again but this time, when he pulls me back in, we're even closer. I hear the thump of his heart against his chest and mine responds enthusiastically.
“I’m sorry about your parents. That’s a wound requiring a long time to heal. But,” he stops dancing now and his sweet blue eyes barrel into my soul, “I hope you know your dad loves you. You need to talk to him.”
He pulls me near, so now my head can rest against his solid chest. The song transitions into another slow country tune. My nose itches and I know my eyes are damp. He redirects us into the middle of the floor, hiding us among the couples finally joining the floor.
Who is this cowboy that shakes me so easily to my core?
As his heart pounds in my ear, I fight to be mad at him. He has no right to say such things, but with his warm hands wrapped strong around my lower back, I let myself be. For the first time I don’t worry about how I feel. Instead I focus on his warmth as he rocks me close. I don’t know how he tricked me back into his arms but I do know one thing— this is where I want to be.
We dance another two songs before the band picks up the beat. People pour onto the dance floor with a little too much excitement and form a few lines. As the introduction of the song finishes, everyone starts shifting to the right.
He eyes me, “I suspect this isn’t your thing?”
“I do not line dance.” I beeline toward our table, abandoning Colt with the lame-oids.
The grapevine begins and Colt’s feet cross in beat to the choreography on his way back to the table. A huge smile plasters his face, mirroring mine. “Want to get out of here?” he asks, ending with a clap in time with everyone else on the dance floor. “The line dancing on a Friday night can last hours.”
“Yes, dear God, please.”
He pops over to the bar to pay while I watch another dance with knee slapping and choreographed turns. This would never happen in a Manhattan club. Ever.
His hand finds that perfect place again on my back again. It’s so warm, like a mini heater, glowing and radiating its warmth down my spine. It’s impossible to be tense when he touches me.
I eye him while we drive. The friendship game ended on the dance floor. I don’t even know why I tried to play friends. He’s too charming for friendship. Maybe he’s changed his mind too?
But why am I willing to put myself out there again for this cowboy? He’s already rejected me in the worst possible way. I try not to study his arm muscles as he steers the truck or notice the stubble on his jaw. Or the way his smile is slightly sideways. Or how my heart is galloping away from my mind. I’m falling fast and I know this can’t be contro
lled any longer, so I won’t try.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he turns off the main road.
“My favorite place. A few more minutes drive.”
His route returns to the ranch. His favorite place is our ranch? He plays old country tunes and sings along horribly. My goose laugh escapes, only encouraging him more. He drives past the main part of the ranch and takes a turn I’m not familiar with. A flat piece of wood with a flimsy illegible number sticks out of the ground. Stupid, if they considered that a street sign, they’re insane. I doubt my phone could even find its way around here.
The truck jostles as he takes us off-road, driving over a cracked creek that no longer exists.
“There,” he says as he points to a lone tree in the distance. The tree’s branches are vast, breaking up the horizon.
“A tree is your favorite place in the whole world?”
“Yup. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” He pulls up under the tree and parks. “Perfect. Come on, hop out.”
I try to hide my excitement. He’s totally taking me parking. I will control myself, limiting it to just making out.
“Come on slow poke,” he says.
“Can’t you wait?”
“Not a second longer.”
His voice is husky and everything inside me melts. My heart kerplunks as I jump out of the truck. Sticky sweat cakes my palms the instant the heat hits me. I follow Colt around to the back truck bed. He grips my hips and lifts me up. A blanket and two pillows greet me in back. Wow. He planned this... for me.
He hops up, handing me a paper bag and holding a small cooler. “Dessert,” he says.
“You brought dessert?”
“My specialty.” He opens the red cooler and picks out strawberries, whipped cream and huge chocolate chip cookies. He builds a sandwich, layering the strawberries with whipped cream in the middle.
I shift towards him. “Do friends make each other dessert?”
“When they need it. Here ya go.”
I take a bite. The chocolate is already partially melted from the heat and it blends smoothly with the strawberries and cream. “This is amazing.” I eat it carefully while he eats his, trying not to get whipped cream all over my lips. The thought of licking it away or him brushing it off is too cliché for me. We’re already parking after all.
“Why do you like it here?” I ask before I take another bite.
“Well, what do you see?”
The dried prairie extends in every direction. There’s a gathering of trees in the distance that a few cattle clump under for shade.
“Nothing, except those cows.”
He leans back and his muscles pop, making my stomach flip flop. “Exactly. Complete isolation. No buildings, roads… nothing. Just me, God and the earth.”
“So you’re an earthy, God guy?”
“Most ranchers and farmers are all about faith even if we aren’t at church every Sunday. We’re at the weather’s mercy and, at times, God’s our only hope.”
“Don’t you feel exposed out here? There’s nothing to do.”
He smiles, leaning back on a pillow. “That’s why I love it. I can’t be distracted from my problems. I face who I am versus who I want to be.”
“Aren’t I a distraction?” I swing my legs over the truck bed’s edge.
“In a way, but I feel like you fit here and you needed to see it. Maybe it’s because this is something New York City can only pretend to offer in a dark spa room or something. But even then…”
“You hear the sound of the vents or doors opening and closing in the hallway. I get a sea mud bath treatment a few times a month to decompress.” I blush and look away from him. It sounds so prissy. Not even mom knows I go that often to find a place to be alone. She thinks I’m using the cash for dinner on the Lower East Side with friends.
“I thought the adventure of New York is your favorite part?”
“It is-- the excitement is great, but sometimes, it’s choking.”
“Exactly. That’s why this is my favorite place in the world.” He sits up. “Here it comes,” he says with a nod towards the horizon. I follow his gaze, and the sun dips down to the earth’s edge, there’s a burst of feathering purples swirling into the wispy clouds above. My breath catches in my throat. I’ve been here a few weeks but haven’t caught a sunset yet. What was I thinking?
“You should see the sunrise too, especially in the fall. It’s slow, pink, and hazy.”
I nod like an idiot, my eyes glued on the experience before me. It’s more beautiful than any art I’ve studied at the Museum of Modern Art, or anywhere for that matter. Memories of hundreds of sunsets from my youth flood me. We’d all watch it together with a bowl of popcorn on the front porch. Mom and Dad always said it was their favorite show.
The sun’s color deepens into blood-red with dark purple, green, and orange jets of light pierce through the coming night sky.
Beautiful. I want to paint it. No, I need to. I wish I had my watercolors with me so I could try to capture such beauty. I’d create nothing compared to what’s radiating through the sky, but it’s like my soul needs to try.
“Thanks,” I whisper. During the last moments, his arms wrapped around me and his palm cupped my shoulder. I wait for my adrenaline to take control, throwing me into a fit of desire and surely making me shove my tongue down his throat. But nothing comes. We’re just here, together, at ease when I should be freaking out.
He squeezes me close, and I feel a moment coming. It’ll be soft and sincere. Real.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
He leans over and kisses my forehead. “Not more than that. Not tonight.”
I glance up and his eyes smile into my own. “Just so you know, I’m okay with it.” It’s true. I didn’t feel rejected at all, almost the opposite. “I just… I don’t know. After dancing with you, being friends doesn’t seem like enough.” I blush, rarely am I so honest with anyone, let alone myself.
He nods as he tucks my hair behind an ear. “No. Friendship’s not possible anymore.”
“Then why not kiss me?” I slide an inch closer. My chest burns, waiting for his response while the sun slips behind the earth.
He brings my hand up to his lips. “Because that’s not what I’m fighting for.”
“What are you fighting for?”
“You. A kiss is easy to get, but to get to you? That’s a battle worth fighting.”
Me?
The word is like the swirls of color dancing in the sky.
Me?
His arms wrap around my waist, holding me close. Soft lips press against my cheek.
Time stops while the stars turn.
Me.
Silence is my response, but it doesn’t seem wrong. Silence makes sense. I’m not saying no, but what exactly am I letting him fight for? What part of me?
My mind begs to spin this into something insulting, but my heart holds firm, whispering the truth. He fights for all of you.
We breathe together, gazing above. Something’s changing. Every knot in my back releases, and my palms are sweat free. For the first time I can remember¸ I’m okay simply being here.
What has this cowboy done to me?
I wake to a soft glow on the horizon. Colt lies next to me in the truck bed, a plaid blanket covering us both. Somewhere between star watching and talking about our fathers, we fell asleep.
I study the sky, expecting the top orb of the sun to appear. I won’t wake Colt. This sunrise needs to be my own. A secret part of me is screaming for newness. The sun can be my new beginning.
Waiting, I look for my favorite Oklahoma haze, but none appears. Maybe the morning is too warm? Yet the stars still blanket the black sky above.
The glow spreads out but no sun crests. The yellow-orange yanks at my heart and something clicks.
“Colt!” I rock him back and forth. He peers at me with a grin.
“Fire! Get up, fire!” I yank the blanket off.
He jolts up and lo
oks out at the pasture before swearing and diving for his phone. “Get in!” He says as he jumps out of the truck bed. I follow, studying the spreading glow in the distance before climbing into the front seat.
“JENKINS, your north field. Fire!” Colt shouts into his phone.
It isn’t Dad’s land! I sigh. Thank God. A wildfire is the last thing he needs right now.
“I’ll start the phone tree. I’m on my way.” He clicks off and dials another number as he throws the truck into gear. “Chris, Jenkins’s got a fire in his north field.” He pauses for a beat. “Absolutely. I’m on my way to drop her off.” Another pause. “Sure.” He hands me the phone.
“Dad?”
“Autumn, I’m going out to help.”
No, he can’t. Mom took me once to watch Dad fight a wildfire. It was terrifying. I expected a knee-high fire, but met a huge inferno that threw tails of fire at the men and their watering trucks. I don’t want Dad there. Colt’s jaw tenses. I don’t want him there either.
“But...” How do I ask him not to go?
“I’m needed, Autumn. We don’t play one-man for himself out here. We’re a community. I’ll be fine. I don’t know when I’ll be home-- sometimes it takes all night. I’ll call you if I’ll be past five in the morning.”
“Sure, Dad.”
He waits for me to say more, but I don’t. I don’t tell him I love him or to be safe. It’s the only time I’ve wanted to say that to him in years and I can’t.
I fail and it sucks.
“Autumn, Tango’s with me.” Great, now I have to worry about the dog’s fate too. Colt takes the phone and makes a few more calls as he races across the land to the road. Dust flies around us as he guns it back to the ranch. He pulls up in front of the house. The lights are on, but Dad’s already gone.
I’m shaking. The glow is spreading at an astounding speed. I swear I can see it whipping fire. One wrong step and someone can get majorly hurt. Fire can even jump, right over a truck, blocking it and its driver from escape. Anything’s possible. Does Colt know this?
Bring the Rain Page 11
