Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  In my empty house.

  Alone.

  "Everything cool with you and Casey, dude?" Jameson's voice cuts through my solitary moment of self-loathing. I really need some new people in my life. Preferably, ones who can't read me like an open book. "I know that look. Hell, I've had that look. What's going on?"

  I love the guy, but my brother-in-law is such a monumental pussy. He was always a little on the soft side, but after Jill and Zakk got their hands on him, he might as well be a woman himself.

  "Casey went back to Texas." Just saying it adds to the pressure sitting on my chest.

  Jameson runs his hand through his sandy hair, pushing it behind his ear. "Just out of the blue?"

  "She has some family shit to take care of. Don’t know when or if she'll be back."

  I feel my face get hot and turn toward the tool bench. Jameson's been my best friend since we were kids. Whenever he's had a problem, I was the one he turned to. I'm usually the fixer, but now, those roles are reversed. He has everything figured out, and I'm the one floundering around, living my life in limbo. It’s embarrassing, and I don't want him to see me like this.

  "Why aren't you with her?"

  The corner of my mouth curls up with a "what the hell" expression. Lover boy's lost his mind. "I got work to do, bro."

  Jameson grabs my bicep as I try to move past him. "You love her?"

  Well, isn't that the million-dollar question? Having never been in love before, I have no idea what the answer is. I definitely like her. A lot. When I think about the possibility of never seeing Casey again, my chest burns, and I can't catch my breath. Even now, I can feel the distance between us as if something’s missing. If that’s not love, I’m not sure what is. "I guess?"

  Jameson closes his eyes, shaking his head with a snort. "If you love her, you should be with her. Nothing is more important."

  He releases his grip and steps under the Nissan on the lift. Our uncomfortable conversation is over, but instead of feeling relief, I'm more worked up than I was before. It's so easy for him to say. He came into his relationship with nothing to lose. No family, no livelihood. He blew in with the wind and never left. His choices were easy. I have responsibilities. I can't chase a girl I've only known a few weeks across the country. No matter how bad it hurts to let her go.

  18

  Casey

  I’m overdosing on nostalgia as I stop in front of my childhood home for the first time in seven years. Standing on the worn wooden planks of the wraparound porch, I can almost hear Gran humming through the window and smell the fresh cornbread baking. I should have come back sooner.

  I slide my old key into the lock; shocked it still works, I’m greeted by Gran’s wall of Casey as I push open the door. A school photo for every year hangs in a circle, showing my various stages of life. The center spot is empty. Gran was saving it for my wedding photo. In every one, my hair is neat, and my clothes are pressed—a perfect, smiling girl with child-like dimples and a plain face—but the wild child hidden inside shows through in my devilish blue eyes. I put Gran through so much heartache.

  The sunshine yellow kitchen calls to me from the foyer. This was always my favorite room in the house. When the school bus dropped me at the gate, I’d run up the trail and burst through the door. Gran would be waiting for me, snack in hand, ready to hear about my day. Playing at her feet on this old linoleum floor is one of my earliest memories.

  Emotion chokes me as I run my hands over the ancient wallpaper. Once white with bold sunflowers, it's faded to a dingy bone color, but it’s still lovely nonetheless. I feel her. Smell her. Hear her voice and see her delicate hands rolling out dough. If she were here right now, she'd look at me with tear-filled eyes and wrap her slender arms around me. Welcome home, Casey Jane.

  But it's too late. I don't have the right to cry. I made my bed, and now, I have to lie in it.

  A few deep breaths later, I find myself on the porch out back. Gran's rocking chair sits motionless, facing the pasture where the horses run. When the day was over, and the work finished, this is where she'd be. Watching her beloved horses.

  "Can I help you?" A deep, slow drawl rumbles from my right far out by the stables. I turn toward the direction of the voice, and my legs turn to jelly. The Earth spins too fast. I lose my balance and fall onto the warm, white wood.

  When my eyes open again, I'm cradled in strong arms and staring into the warmest brown eyes I've ever seen. "You all right, baby girl? You gave this ol’ boy a fright the way you hit the deck like that."

  Dazed and confused, I blink my lashes, trying to remember. The recollection hit hard and fast, goring me like an angry bull. The horses, the barn ... Austin. It was all too much.

  "Yeah, I'm fine. Just haven't eaten all day, is all." I struggle to my feet, breaking loose from his strong grasp.

  "Well then, let's get some food in ya." Austin pushes himself to his feet, smacking his big hands against his well-worn jeans. A little too well worn. They hang on his hips, dirty and tattered, defining every tendon in his muscular thighs. “C'mon. I'll get washed up."

  He pushes his way into the house, and I watch him disappear inside. Austin was twenty-three when I left, all lean muscle, wiry and thin. Now, at thirty, he's filled out. He's brawny and wide, tan and tall. With a voice that apparently still brings me to my knees. Literally.

  I join him in the kitchen, dropping down at the large oak table, and watch him move about. His brown hair is much shorter than it used to be, and his face, once so young and boyish, is chiseled and mature.

  "I was wonderin’ when you'd come home." He sets a plate down and sits across from me at the table. After all these years, he still remembers I eat pickles on a turkey sub.

  "I'm sure you heard. I'm the new owner of Grainger Ranch." My insides somersault at the thought. I own a ranch. I'm not prepared for this.

  "Yup. Your ma was madder than a hornet in a beer can when she found out. She came out here cussin’ and yellin’. I told her, ‘I didn't do it. I just work here.’” A small grin curls his lips, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. "But I'm glad you're home."

  When his warm hand settles over mine, my eyes drop to his bare ring finger. I let it remain there for just a moment before pulling away. Austin is a friend now, nothing more, yet the look on his face when I slip my hand from his slices a wound in my chest.

  "Thanks for the sandwich." I take a bite, although I'm not all that hungry anymore. I just need a distraction from the heavy moment. “Are you still livin’ here?”

  His handsome face is tired and sad. “Where else am I gonna go, Casey Jane? This ranch has been my life for more than ten years. Just because Gran's gone ...” Silence fills the room, and pangs of guilt stab me in the gut. Gran was a mother to us both.

  “Gran always said you were a blessin’ sent from heaven. She’d appreciate all you’ve done.”

  He smiles and nods, his warm brown eyes searching my face. Quiet falls between us again. I want him to yell at me. Tell me I broke his heart; say I’m not welcome, that he can’t stand the sight of me. Anything other than this sullen lack of speech. But Austin was never one with words. He’s a man of action, who proved himself to me in ways other than talk. “What’d he do to you, Casey?”

  “What you mean?”

  “You ain’t the same. You talk different; you look different. Where’s the girl I knew? Surely, she’s still in there.”

  The sandwich is a rock in my stomach. “I’m still her.” My voice comes out meek and strained. Off and on, I’d practiced what I’d say to Austin should we ever be face to face again, but no amount of mental notes could have prepared me for the way it feels to stare into the face of the man I’ve wronged and still see love in his eyes.

  “Nah. My sweet girl wouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

  The wooden legs of the chair squeak on the linoleum as Austin rises and walks to the screen door. Staring out into the yard, he’s quiet for a moment before adding, “Maybe while you’re here, I can h
elp you can find her.”

  AJ: Rise and shine, cowgirl.

  The text message makes me smile. It’s five a.m., which means it’s six o’clock in New Jersey. AJ's been my wake-up call every morning, even though he doesn’t have to be at work until nine. It’s my favorite part of the day, but fondling my phone isn't quite the same as waking up in his arms. He's the first person I hear when I wake up, and the last voice I hear before bed. The hours in the middle I spend going over the books, cleaning out the house, and working down at the stables. I have aches in places I didn’t know could ache. My years in the city have made me soft.

  Typing in a quick "good morning" response, I hit send and place the phone back down where it was. Sleeping in my old room is still strange, even though it's changed a bit since I’ve been gone. Gran ditched the old blue bed linens and added a bold floral pattern to the bed and windows. It’s sunnier in here than I remember, but it could just be my mind playing tricks on me.

  The smell of coffee wafts up from the kitchen. My conversations with Austin have been mostly about business, but every now and again, I see the craving swirling in his eyes. I feel it radiating from him, the same way I did all those years ago before he finally gave in and made me his.

  Austin never rushed me. He was patient and compassionate. We’d already been dating a year, but he would have gladly waited a lifetime for me.

  Once I knew Gran was asleep, I snuck down to his room off the foyer. I watched his shadow pass through the light peeking out from under the door before letting myself in. He looked at me with heated desire, his eyes leaving mine for only the short moment it took me to close the door and turn the latch, locking us in together.

  “You need somethin’, baby girl?”

  “Yes.”

  I wanted to be brave, but my whole body quivered when I dropped my robe. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes raked over the satin and lace nightie I wore. Up until then, we’d only kissed, but I wanted more. I was seventeen. Still a girl, but head over heels in love with a man I was anxious to please.

  “You put this on for me?”

  I took a deep breath and nodded before taking a step further. His hand skimmed over my hip and slipped underneath the sheer fabric. “Is this for me, too?” A sharp breath hit my lungs when his fingertip ran across the obvious wet spot in my matching panties.

  “If you want it.”

  My heart thundered, and my pulse pounded. It was awkward at first. I laid on the bed with damp palms and damp panties, while his gentle kisses covered my body, and his hands roamed to places nobody had ever touched before. The anticipation was killing me. He took his time exploring me, murmuring sweet words in my ear and making sure I really wanted this. It was exhilarating and scary, and I wanted nothing more than for him to hurry up and get started.

  “I love you, baby girl. I’m gonna marry you one day,” he whispered as his body invaded mine, slow and deep. Those two adjectives always come to mind when describing Austin. They are fitting in every possible way. His moves, his voice, the way he loves, the way he fucks. Slowly, deeply, with so much power and conviction that it took me over from day one.

  “Mornin’.”

  Dressed and ready to start the day, I traipse into the kitchen, struck by his size for the fifth morning that week. The flannel shirt sitting pretty on his six-foot frame does nothing to hide the massive homegrown muscle hiding underneath. He doesn’t say anything; just slides a mug of fresh, hot coffee in front of me and stares out the window with his own mug braced between his long fingers. Having lived with Marisa for five years, silent mornings are common for me, but standing next to Austin, the air is thick and heavy, and the quiet is excruciating.

  “Whatcha got going on today?” I ask, dragging the conversation out of him.

  “Truck ain’t kickin’ over. I gotta do some maintenance on it.” He sips his coffee, still looking out at the pasture as if there’s something interesting to see besides grass.

  “I’ll do the mornin’ feedin’ then.”

  I drain my mug and rinse it in the sink. Heat hits my back. Flannel tickles my bare shoulder as Austin leans over and drops his cup in front of me, lingering longer than he should. "Somethin’ about the way you smell, baby girl, it's ...." His smooth face brushes over my hair as an ‘mmm’ sound completes his statement, then he’s gone. I’m left at the sink with the same damp palms I had so long ago, missing his warmth and watching the languid way he moves toward the barn.

  Once my breath returns to normal, I head out to the stable to water the horses and get them fed. Each horse gets two hay flakes in their feeder, and then I start mixing up the feed. Lined up along the wall of the stable are three thirty-two gallon garbage drums, each one containing a different type. I measure out the powdered bran mash and sweet feed with a three-quart scoop then sprinkle on some Safe Choice supplement, topping it off with a splash of corn oil to keep their coats shiny.

  It’s amazing how certain things stick in your mind. I can’t remember the piano lessons I took as a kid and do not remember how to bake a pecan pie without a recipe, but caring for these horses is second nature regardless of my time away.

  They whinny and neigh as I fill their troughs with water and pet their soft manes with love. Way back when, we had double what we have now. Gran stopped breeding shortly after Grandpa passed and concentrated on riding lessons and performance training. In order to do that, she also supplemented the income by boarding. Taking care of other people's horses is a hell of a responsibility, but Gran loved them as if they were her own. She was good like that.

  The days are busy, and when I’m not filling them with work, I’m thinking about AJ. I miss his easy smile, his smoky gray eyes, and the way he kisses me. AJ’s adamant about making this work, and I’m giving it a fair shake, but the more I look at Austin, the more at home I feel. He’s more than my ex-lover—he’s a part of my family. A part of me. Being here and working side by side, I’m getting a glimpse of what my life may have been like had I stayed.

  I don’t hate it.

  “Can I get in there?”

  Jamming out to Eric Church on the radio, I turn and see Austin standing the kitchen. A flannel shirt drapes over one broad shoulder, allowing me to see his smooth sun-kissed body. Thick black grease tracks slither up each forearm, and every inch of him glistens with sweat. My breath catches as he comes closer to where I’m standing. My lips part and I realize a split second too late that he’s talking about the sink. He wants to wash up.

  “Yeah. Knock yourself out,” I say, swallowing my tongue and smacking the handle on the faucet. Water rushes out, fast and angry, equal to the way my heart beats in my chest.

  Turning away, I guzzle my sweet tea, trying to quench the sudden desert in my throat. “How’s the truck?”

  “Ain’t lookin’ good. Still can’t get the damn thing to kick over.”

  Gray water swirls down the drain as he scrubs his hands clean with Lava soap. He dries them with a length of paper towel then sweeps it over his face and around the back of his hot neck. “So, uh … I’m fixin’ to head into town tonight. What’s say you get cleaned up and come on with me?”

  He leans his hip against the sink, catching me in his warm brown gaze. Other than our little chat over my turkey sub, this is more talking than Austin has done all week. I don’t know what to say, but when I don’t answer fast enough, he pushes a little harder. “C’mon, baby girl. Live a little.”

  His choice of phrases strikes me as funny, and I smile. The irony of Austin telling me to live a little is a bit much. Trying to have a life was what brought us here in the first place. “Where ya headed?”

  “Thought we’d jump the county line and hit up Rocky’s.”

  My stomach growls at the thought. Rocky’s has the best barbecue this side of Texas. The majority of the meals I had in Jersey were from either a sack or a box. Cowboy-style brisket sounds like heaven right about now. “Yeah, all right.”

  Austin smiles as I walk pas
t him to the stairs.

  What are you doing? Tell Austin you changed your mind. Lock the door. Call AJ.

  I ignore the thoughts running through my head and pull the blue floral dress from my closet. It’s just two friends hanging out like old times. If that were the truth, then why am I stricken with sudden feelings of betrayal?

  At the bottom of the stairs, Austin waits for me with a Stetson in one hand and a fist full of wildflowers in the other. The hard lines of his body are obvious under his pressed shirt and clean jeans. He looks good. Too good.

  “Damn, baby. I reckon you’re as pretty as a bluebonnet.”

  The airy material of my dress floats around my knees as I descend the steps, and Austin’s eyes glitter as he watches. I try to smile, but my lips are dry. It’s as if all the moisture in my body has flowed between my legs, leaving everything else as arid as the grass outside my window. I remind myself again that this isn’t a date, but my body and my head are in disagreement.

  Rocky’s is hoppin’ this time of night, but we end up finding a small table near the edge of the patio. “I’ll go up. You want the usual?”

  I can’t help but smile. Austin and I have spent so much time together, it all blurs into one big pile of years. But it just dawned on me right this second that our first official date was here. I’d ask if he realized that, but the look on his face tells me the answer is yes. Every time we came, I’d get the same thing: brisket, potato salad, and a sweet tea. It tastes so good; I never felt the need to try anything else. If only my love life was as simple as my appetite.

  Austin rambles to the counter, dragging my wandering eyes along with him. I shouldn’t be looking at him so hard, and I shouldn’t be enjoying our quiet moments alone this much. But so many snapshots of us are glued to the scrapbook pages of my mind, and it’s making them difficult to turn. They say our memories are more closely linked to our sense of smell than anything else is. Certain aromas have the ability to evoke particular memories. Sitting here, surrounded by the smoky scents of burning mesquite and charred beef, I believe it.