Though not exactly her taste, Trudy’s place was warm. Inviting. Lived in. And just like the store, it was an amusement park for the eyes. There were shelves and shelves of things Stormy would have deemed useless, and she couldn’t imagine having to dust that place. She idly wondered where Trudy found the time to do it. She never could understand the need for people to clutter up a perfectly good house with things that served no real purpose. Maybe it was just her obsessive need to keep things nice and orderly that made her that way. Or, maybe it was the fact that she and Mama had never owned anything worthy of displaying.
She was pondering the possible reasons for her aversion when something else caught her eye. Nestled on a bookshelf, next to a basket of knitting, was a King James Bible.
It reminded her of Ms. Hattie.
Ms. Hattie had been a sweet old lady that had lived next door when Stormy was twelve. When Mama couldn’t pay the rent and the landlord threw them out, Ms. Hattie had taken pity on them and invited them into her home. Mama had spent her days locked in the tiny back bedroom of Ms. Hattie’s house, never paying the old lady much mind, but Stormy couldn’t get enough of her...or her peach cobbler.
Ms. Hattie was one of those grandmotherly types that called everybody “sugar” or “baby” in that sweet southern lilt she had. She always wore floral print dresses and kept her gray hair twisted up so tight that it made Stormy’s head hurt just to look at it. And in the depths of her dark crinkly eyes was kindness and wisdom. Wisdom that she imparted to anyone who would listen, and Stormy soaked it up like a sponge.
She remembered the small plastic replica of The Ten Commandments that sat on Ms. Hattie’s coffee table, right next to her worn, leather-bound Bible. Stormy had read them many times, and it all sounded pretty good to her. Love God. Love your neighbor. It was the one about honoring your mother and father that she always struggled with. Young Stormy had always wondered how she was supposed to honor a mother that hardly acknowledged her existence and a father that she’d never met. Many times she’d wanted to approach Ms. Hattie about the subject but she’d been too bashful about it. And then when Ms. Hattie fell and broke her hip, she’d never gotten the chance. Ms. Hattie’s daughter took her away to live with her in Arkansas...and Stormy and her mama ended up in the women’s shelter.
Trudy’s voice startled her back to the present, “Found it!” She lugged a huge cardboard box into the living room and set it on the blue and white striped sofa. “It was buried underneath a whole bunch of junk. Sorry it took so long.”
“Oh, it was no problem. I was just taking a look around. You’ve got a lot of stuff in here.”
“Yeah. I’m a little bit of a hoarder, I’ll admit. When I see something cute I just can’t help myself. See,” she picked up a ceramic green frog with a grimace on his face and a daisy covering his private parts, “I just couldn’t pass him up when I saw him.”
“Oh. He’s cute,” Stormy lied. She thought it was tacky, but she couldn’t hurt Trudy’s feelings when she’d gone out of her way to be so kind.
Relief washed over her when Trudy pulled the flaps of the box open and revealed modest looking jeans and an assortment of colorful tee-shirts. Some of it was a little outdated and a little loud for her taste, but she wasn’t about to complain. “This stuff is perfect, Trudy.”
Chapter Eleven
It was the perfect day for fishing. The air was crisp, but not cold, the sky was clear, and the traffic was surprisingly light. And Brylan was finally getting the hang of driving Stormy’s truck. In the forty-five minutes since they’d left his house, he’d only heard her suck air through her teeth once.
Brylan was glad for the chance to get Stormy and Nozz away from Yaupon for a bit. They both needed a distraction. Hell, he did too. His new job hadn’t been giving him the warm and fuzzy feeling that he’d hoped to have by now, and he was starting to second guess his career decisions.
As much as Brylan liked to give his dad a hard time about fishing, he’d grown a real appreciation for it over the years. There was something therapeutic about standing on the edge of the water with a fishing rod in his hand. There were no expectations, no responsibilities…. It was a good way to quiet the mind. He only hoped that Stormy and Nozz would find the same peace in it that he did.
Stormy was stuck in between Nozz and Brylan on the bench seat of the truck, and Brylan was having a real love-hate relationship with the gear-shift. The warped part of his brain got a cheap thrill each time his hand accidentally brushed the soft, creamy skin of Stormy’s leg. The logical part of his brain wanted to beat the shit out of the other part.
Another graze and he was dying on the inside. Stormy appeared to be unfazed by it, so he tried pretend he didn’t notice it either, even though it was torturing him.
“Now that I think about it, Stormy…I should have told you to wear jeans.”
She looked over at him with a puzzled look. “Why? It’s nice outside. You mean you don’t like the raggedy cut-offs that Trudy gave me?”
The problem was that he liked them a little too much. “I just thought…uh…that it might be better if your legs were protected. You know, in case there are any…uh…mosquitoes or anything.” He turned his blushing face toward the window and rolled his eyes. It was a lame justification and he knew it.
“But you’re wearing shorts,” she pointed out.
He hadn’t quite thought that one through. He was 0 for 2. Time to change the subject. “Everything good over there, Nozz?”
“Yeah. I’m cool.”
He’d been peculiarly quiet the entire drive and Brylan wondered if it was because of his close proximity to Stormy. He’d noticed Nozz steal a glance at Stormy’s legs more than a few times. Hell, what guy wouldn’t? And he’d already told Brylan that he had a thing for her, but there hadn’t been a single indication that she liked him back. She had him in the friend-zone, and Brylan wondered if Nozz was planning to step up his game. Considering the circumstances, Brylan should have been rooting for the guy. He was closer to her age, and he wouldn’t be risking his whole career to be with her.
Laughter was something that Stormy needed, and Nozz was good at providing it for her. In actuality, Nozz was a good match for her. He was a good guy, smart, funny, and a hard worker. He and Stormy would make a good match.
So why did the thought of them together make his stomach hurt?
The wind blew a strand of Stormy’s hair across her eyes. She tucked it back behind her ear and flashed Brylan the smallest of smiles. Hidden beneath that pretty exterior lived an emotional warrior. Less than a week ago she had gone through hell, and now here she was, sitting beside him, looking mildly happy. Brylan smiled back and resisted the urge to shake his head in wonderment. This girl was something else.
****
The trip was excruciating. On her right was Nozz, who couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her bare legs. Each stolen glance amplified her unease because she knew his interest in her went beyond platonic. She’d picked up on the little nuances over the last several weeks—holding doors open for her, offering extra help in biology lab, going out of his way to make idle chitchat—but she just wasn’t attracted to him. He was sweet, smart, funny, and strangely charming in an unconventional sort of way…but it wasn’t enough to entice her into anything beyond friendship.
And on her left was Brylan, who was sexy, compassionate, engaging…and completely off limits. Every time his knuckles grazed the inside of her thigh it sent white hot jolts of electricity through her that were blissfully torturous.
She wished with every fiber of her being that she could feel that way with Nozz. Damn, her life would be so much simpler. She knew where she stood with him. He liked her. Period. But with Brylan, the relationship was one big fat question mark. There was an obvious connection between them. Stormy didn’t know what to call it—animal magnetism, chemistry, enchantment—there was definitely something there. But whatever it was, it was pock-marked with complications.
And it wa
s driving her mad.
Eventually the truck slowed and turned off the main highway onto an old, washboard road that was little more than a cow trail. The sun was blocked by the dense overgrowth of trees and brush spilling over the road and the earthy stench of manure assaulted her nostrils. The scrape of low-lying branches across the top of the cab made the skin on Stormy’s arms prickle. The scene reminded her of one of those horror movies where the car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and the people get hacked to death by a bunch of axe-wielding miscreant rednecks.
The truck clattered and squeaked over a particularly rough patch of road, “Arrrre wwwee theeerrre yyyetttt?” Stormy’s face flushed and she scowled when the laughing erupted from both sides of her.
Leave it to her to pick the worst time to try to speak.
“Almost there,” Brylan answered. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying having
your teeth rattled out of your head?”
She shot him a dirty glare, “Not particularly.”
He responded with a grin, “Look up ahead.”
The truck left the rutted up road and rolled into a flat grassy clearing, and in front of them, just beyond the majestic live oaks and the patches of wildflowers was a big, beautiful, sparkling lake. Stormy shielded her eyes from the intensity of the sun that danced across the water. “This is gorgeous, Brylan.”
“Thanks.” Brylan pushed the door closed. “We like it.”
“This is yours?” Nozz asked in disbelief. He too was awestruck by their surroundings.
“Yeah. Well, I mean it belongs to my family. We’ve got about eighty acres that’s been passed down over three generations. My dad still lives in the original house that my granddaddy built. It’s up a ways just over that hill.”
“Wow, Coach. Didn’t know you were so well off,” Nozz snorted while sporting a sarcastic smirk. Stormy was glad to see he was coming back to his old self. She was starting to worry about him.
“I wouldn’t say that exactly. My dad is the one who’s well off. Not me.”
The words were laced with animosity toward his father. Stormy shot him a questioning look, but he averted his eyes, not wanting to go there.
“Well speak of the devil.” Brylan nodded in the direction of the big, shiny, platinum-colored Ford pickup that was headed down the hill in their direction. When it rolled to a stop, a salt-and-peppered, slightly shorter version of Brylan stepped out. “Howdy, folks. Didn’t know Brylan was bringing company.” He looked to Nozz with a slight smile and a nod, revealing that same familiar dimple, but when his attention shifted to Stormy, the smile dropped from his face. It was incredibly brief, but she caught it…and when he smiled again, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hello there, little lady.”
Stormy flashed him an awkward smile and rubbed her upper arms in an attempt to get rid of the discomfort she was feeling. A hint of a scowl crossed Brylan’s face as he silently assessed the situation. “Dad, this is Stormy,” he pointed to her and then shifted his gaze to Nozz, “and this is Joshua.”
Joshua? It threw her for a minute, but then she remembered their teacher calling him that in class and felt foolish. She gave herself a mental smack on the forehead.
“Alright. You kids ready to do some fishing?” The older Mr. Knight asked.
“Yes, sir,” Nozz chirped enthusiastically. “Just show me what to do.”
Stormy was taken a little by surprise. “Nozz, you’ve never been fishing before?”
“Nope. Never had the pleasure.”
The surprised look on Brylan’s face mirrored Stormy’s. “Never?”
Nozz’s shoulders dropped and the spark in his eye dimmed under the scrutiny of their stares. He looked like a scolded puppy and it broke Stormy’s heart. She hadn’t meant to embarrass the poor guy. “That’s cool, Nozz. I haven’t been fishing in years myself.” She flashed him her biggest smile. “Come on. Let’s see if I can still remember how to rig up a fishing pole.” He recovered his cheesy grin and followed her to the back of the truck to retrieve the tackle boxes and fishing rods.
While Stormy educated Nozz on how to tie a proper fishing knot, Brylan and Mr. Knight spent several minutes arguing about where the best spots were for catching bass, and then bickered some more about night crawlers versus lures for catching catfish. It was amusing to watch, and Stormy could definitely see where Brylan’s stubborn streak came from.
Tied to the end of the pier, painted in green and brown camouflage, was a small flat-bottomed boat that just begged to be used. “Is it okay if Nozz and I take the boat out?” Stormy had been eyeballing it for the past half-hour and couldn’t resist asking. If nobody else was going to put it to use, then she certainly would.
All three of the guys looked at her as if she’d just announced that she was going to light her hair on fire. “You know how to navigate a boat?” Brylan raised a dark eyebrow.
“I sure do. It’s been a while…but it’s like riding a bike, right?”
The older Knight rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I reckon that’ll be alright,” he said in that blasé drawl of his. Stormy was having a hard time figuring the man out. She really wanted to like him for Brylan’s sake, and she wanted him to like her too, but the jury was still out on the subject. She was still wondering about that look he gave her when he first showed up. He had been nothing but polite afterward, but she still sensed something was off.
Nozz was wary of the boat idea, “You’re not gonna get us killed, are you? I don’t know anything about boats.”
“Can you swim?” she asked teasingly.
“As a matter of fact, I can. I was a lifeguard at the country club pool for two summers, but that’s not the point. Besides, I don’t see a motor on that thing. How are we going to go anywhere?”
By that time Stormy had already grabbed up the fishing gear and planted herself on one of the metal bench seats. She grabbed an oar and held it up. “Here’s your motor. Now get in the darned boat.”
“Pffft….I never signed up for manual labor,” Nozz complained, but the glimmer in his eye said that he was intrigued. The smart-ass just liked giving Stormy a hard time.
****
It took a little while to work out the kinks, but before long, Nozz and Stormy found harmony in their rowing and had the boat moving down the lake in a slow, steady line. Once they made it around the bend, Stormy spotted a shady little alcove. “Over there, Nozz.”
He followed her line of sight until he spotted the place she was gesturing to. In a voice three octaves higher than it should have been, he said, “What? That spooky looking spot over there with all the gnarly stumps sticking out? Are you crazy?”
Stormy frowned. “What’s wrong with that spot? That’s where the fish are. I can feel it.”
“Oh yeah? I bet you’ll feel it when an alligator or a snake bites your ass too!”
Stormy snorted a laugh, “Nozz, you need to man-up, because that’s where we’re going. And I doubt this place has any alligators.”
Nozz shook his head in defeat. “It’s your funeral.”
Once they were close enough, Stormy reached out for a low-hanging tree limb that was jutting out from the bank and threw the rope over it. “That oughta do.” Once the boat was secure, she grabbed a couple of red and white bobbers from the tackle box, figuring it would be the best method for a first-timer like Nozz. Then she picked up the white styrofoam container of night crawlers. “Now don’t get all squeamish on me,” she told Nozz while handing him a thick, purple, wiggly worm.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
“Uh, you put it on your hook, dummy….like this.” She pushed the hook through the worm, ignoring the little niggle of guilt at the back of her mind. She never did like that part of fishing, but she knew it was a necessary evil. “See,” she said proudly, “nothing to it.”
A peaceful quiet enveloped them as they sat gazing over the water. The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat as the cicadas and crickets buzzed in the thick b
rush surrounding the lake. Quietly, Nozz asked, “How do you know so much about fishing?”
Stormy kept her gaze fixed on the water bugs that skittered across the top of the water in circles. “Mama used to be married to a guy that took me fishing a lot. Taught me everything I know actually. They were together for about a year. He was a nice guy. Probably the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father figure.”
“Huh,” Nozz snorted, “I’ve got the real thing at home and he couldn’t give two shits about me. He sure as hell never took me fishing.”
Weathering Stormy Page 11
