Mr. Wrong

by Taryn A. Taylor

  There was a knock at the door. Genova was at Kevin’s house, but it seemed like someone from the institute was always banging on their door. She thrust it open, holding the album in her hand.

  Beau stood there, wearing his leather jacket, holding a helmet under his arm.

  “Hi.” Sara thought of her ponytail and sweats, not to mention her photo album.

  Beau smiled. “Hi.”

  Sara didn’t know what to do. Her mouth felt dry, and her skin felt hot. “Do you want to come in?” She stepped backwards, almost dropping the album. Beau caught it, shut it and handed it back to her. Inhaling, she noticed he smelled of leather and soft tropical something—the way he always smelled. Mentally she kicked herself. Why was she smelling him?

  Beau glanced at the photo album. “Am I interrupting?” He put his hand back on the door knob.

  “No.” Sara found that she didn’t want him to leave. It seemed like he probably understood better than anybody her feelings about her dad. “Want to sit?” She gestured to the couch.

  Beau settled into the couch, and Sara picked up the album and sat beside him. She opened it and pointed to a picture. “This was my tenth birthday. That’s dad standing behind me. And, of course, Mark and James sword fighting.” Sara laughed at thoughts of how crazy her brothers were.

  Beau smiled and took his jacket off. “You guys look really happy, Sara.”

  She reflected on that and shrugged. “We were. Dad had to be both parents, and he did a good job of it. Granted, the farm was a nice place to raise a family. We could find him somewhere on the property anytime we needed him.” She turned the picture and saw her dad and James branding a calf. James looked like he was about fifteen.

  “I always hated branding season. I couldn’t get over how much it probably hurt them.” Sara turned the page over. “Oh, look at this. Isn’t this so Mark?” Mark was dressed like a hippie for Halloween.

  Beau smiled and nodded.

  “I think deep inside he’ll always be a free spirit. My dad always said a mission would change him, but I think it just gave him the tools to actually be a successful hippy. He won’t starve.” She laughed again and looked at Beau.

  He laughed too. “Did you really want to hitchhike across America?”

  “Yes,” she said, studying Mark’s picture. She looked back to Beau. “Ya know I never used to worry about him, because dad did all the worrying. Maybe I better start.” She sighed.

  “Naw, Mark will work it all out. He seems like a good guy.”

  Sara nodded and realized that Beau was really paying attention to the photos. She noticed that he’d gotten a haircut because his hair looked shorter, and he was wearing it like the sculpted, messy style that she’d gotten used to on him. “I never asked you why you came over.”

  He shrugged and kept looking at the photos. He turned the page. “Is this your senior prom?”

  She covered the picture with her hand. “That dress was hideous. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Beau swiped her hand away. “I think you look good.” He studied the picture.

  Her phone rang. She looked at the number and saw that it was Jonathon. She pushed ignore and put the phone down, not wanting to talk to him in front of Beau.

  Beau raised his eyebrows.

  Sara blushed.

  Beau picked up the Beatrice article lying on the coffee table she’d been working on. Sara tried to grab it out of his hand, but he turned the other way and laughed. “You’re Beatrice?”

  Embarrassed, Sara shrugged.

  He started reading. “Dear Beatrice. I have a boyfriend, but I’m attracted to someone else. What do I do? Signed, Lonely Heart.”

  She tried to grab it again, still unsure of her response. He snapped it away; his eyes filled with intrigue.

  “Dear Lonely Heart. No worries. Love is meant to be easy. If it feels too hard, it’s not the right one. Signed, Beatrice Fairfax.”

  Beau cocked his head to the side and scrunched his nose up, putting the article back down.

  “Well,” Sara said, not liking that she felt nervous.

  “How’d it go with Jonathon?”

  “What do you think of the article?”

  His eyes were intense for a few seconds then he turned away from her, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t agree with your advice.” He didn’t back away from her. “Are you getting married?”

  Sara could tell that he was trying to act nonchalant.

  She leaned back into the couch and folded her arms. “What didn’t you agree with?”

  He turned toward her and reached for her arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  He took her left hand and sighed, dropping it back and standing up.

  “At least you don’t have a ring yet.”

  She didn’t want to answer the question. She really didn’t know how to answer. She almost felt a little sick because her feelings seemed all jumbled up inside since kissing him that day in the grove. “What did you think of my response to Lonely Heart?”

  Beau grimaced. “I don’t think love is easy. At least, not like the fairytale kind of love they sell to young girls.” He studied her face.

  “What is it then?”

  “I think it’s passionate and wonderful and hard and crazy worth it.” He held her eyes.

  She stood and looked into his eyes, hating the goose bumps that crept onto her arms. Taking the article she turned away from him. “Why do you care, Beau?” She went to her room and placed the article on her desk, shutting the door behind her.

  Beau looked at her for a minute and then whispered, “Can I take you somewhere right now?”

  Sara shook her head. “Beau, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He stepped forward. “Come on. I know you’re too curious not to come. It’ll get your mind off of everything.” He gestured to the photo album.

  Sara hedged. “I have another lesson with Martha and Larry tomorrow—if you want to come, you’re welcome to.” She didn’t mention that they’d missed him the last two Saturdays.

  His voice was soft. “I’d love to come—I just . . . well, I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t have another partner.”

  Sara paused.

  He held his hand out to her, not budging. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” He winked at her.

  She was curious. Moaning she turned to her room and said, “Let me change and brush my hair.”

  Chapter 22

  “Don’t worry about the hair. I have an extra helmet on the bike.”

  Sara realized she would be getting on a motorcycle, and a little thrill went through her. She’d grown up riding bikes around the ranch with her brothers. Changing into jeans and putting on some lipstick, she told herself she just liked to look good—in general. It had nothing to do with Beau.

  As she walked out, Beau held a jacket to her. It was Genova’s brown, leather jacket.

  “That’s not mine.” Sara went for the closet.

  “Genova won’t care, will she?” Beau eyed her face. “I like the lipstick. It’s a good, strong color for you.”

  She felt herself blush and took the jacket to hang back in the closet. “Thanks.”

  Beau put a hand on her arm. “Leather cuts the wind. Put on a sweatshirt too.”

  Sara hesitated and then took a UW brown and gold sweatshirt from the closet.

  Beau shook his head. “It’s amazing that even those colors look good on you.”

  Sara shook her head, hating that she liked Beau’s compliments. She scrawled a note to Genova and turned for the door.

  The red street bike glistened under the street lamp. It seemed extremely quiet out tonight. The road was wet from a light snow earlier in the day.

  Beau pulled out the other helmet and handed it to her. “Have you ever ridden?” Sara smiled arrogantly. “You’re talking to a cowgirl, of course I’ve ridden.”

  “Right.” He put his helmet on, clicking the front plastic into place.

  Putting her arms around h
is waist was nerve-racking. Closing her eyes she tried not to think about the smell of leather and how she could feel his whole body moving as he balanced the bike and pushed the kickstand up. Deciding she shouldn’t be so close to him, she tried to get a grip on the leather of his jacket in her hands.

  Beau laughed, and she felt her stomach jump as they pulled away from the curb. She pinched his side. “What?”

  He eased onto the street and turned his head at the stop sign and opened the front of the helmet. “You’re gonna have to hold on tighter than that.” He snapped it shut and took off with a jolt.

  Sara laughed, snuggling into his back and tightening her grip around his middle. Beau rode through Main Street and then headed out of town on the freeway, toward Cheyenne. When she saw the sign, she realized she probably should have asked where, exactly, they were going, but it felt like for the first time since the funeral she was able to relax a little bit. Feeling him underneath her arms made her feel secure.

  Her thoughts turned to meeting him for the first time in Salt Lake. She reflected on how different his life had been then—after his wife had recently passed. And how different hers had been—the girl that had just sent a missionary off. She couldn’t believe that Jonathon was home—and she could be marrying him at some point. Guilt started to creep into her heart, because she liked the way Beau felt against her.

  Beau turned off of the interstate about five minutes away from town and started up a mountain. The trees started to thicken, and the air felt cooler. Her legs began to smart against the cold, but it all seemed so beautiful in the moonlight. They rode another ten minutes, and Beau pulled off onto a dirt road, passing a mailbox. The road curved higher until the trees seemed to clear, and Sara could make out, what appeared to be, a newer cabin. The lights were on, and she heard music coming softly from the windows.

  He stopped the bike and took his helmet off. “Welcome to my home.”

  Sara felt weird. He seemed so much older than her at this moment. She turned to him and smiled. “Is this where you kill me and bury my bones on your mountain. I assume it’s yours too.” She got off the bike gingerly, handing him the helmet.

  He pushed a button in his pocket and the garage opened. He smiled wickedly and rolled the bike into the garage. “You left a note, remember? I need to get you alone with no one around.”

  “Yeah. Then I really wouldn’t finish my degree.” She muttered it under her breath and felt a little angry at Jonathon.

  Beau scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Sara rolled her eyes. “Nothing.”

  He hesitated. “We’ll talk about that later. First, I want you to meet someone.”

  Sara hadn’t been expecting this. “Okay.” She followed him up the steps. The warmth of the house assaulted her, making her nose run a little from the contrast of the cold.

  An older lady sat in a chair by a fire reading. She looked up and smiled, pulling her glasses off of her face. She looked at Beau. “My goodness, I do think she’s as pretty as you’ve said.”

  Beau cleared his throat. “Mom, this is Sara. Sara, this is my mom, Ellen.”

  Ellen put out her hand and Sara shook it, noticing how fragile it felt in her hand. “Nice to meet you.” She didn’t know what to say. “What are you reading?”

  “Oh,” Ellen said, putting her hand gently on top of a well-worn book. “Just one of the classics—Pride and Prejudice.”

  Sara smiled. “I love that one, but I just have the hardest time with Elizabeth.”

  Ellen laughed a little. “Really, why?”

  Sara sat down next to her. “It just seems like she takes so long to really be able to see Darcy for who he is. I mean, I get that they have some misunderstandings—but why don’t they just talk? It takes forever for them to get together. Then he has to write her that whole letter explaining it all. Come on—just talk.”

  Ellen fluffed her short hair and pulled her glasses off. “Ya see, I like the fact it takes a while to unravel. I like the mystery and journey of it all. It’s a lot like a new relationship—don’t you think?” Ellen glanced from Beau to her.

  Sara wondered how this conversation had suddenly become about her and Beau. She shook her head. “I guess.”

  Ellen laughed, her eyes shining and stood. She reached out for Beau. “Well, I better head home, Beau. Sara, really it was so nice to finally meet you. You should join us for Thanksgiving if you don’t have plans. I’m a great cook.”

  Sara smiled, seeing where Beau got his personality from. “It was nice meeting you too.”

  Beau stepped to Ellen, helping her gently get into her coat and kissing her cheek. “Love you, Mom. See ya tomorrow.” He walked to the porch and watched her get into her white car and back out.

  Sara stood marveling at the amount of floor to ceiling windows in this room. “Wow. You’ve got quite the view here.” The moon was bright, and she saw trees and the reflection of lake water. “I didn’t know there was a lake up here.”

  Beau stepped to her side and tentatively ran his fingers over her hand.

  Sara closed her eyes, hating the way she loved the feel of his hand. “Beau—.”

  “Just don’t say anything, Sara.”

  Sara looked at him. It dawned on her that he didn’t get it. And, how could he? She should be at her apartment talking to Jonathon on Skype or something. Not gallivanting on a motorcycle all over the forest and now standing in his ultra decked-out cabin.

  “I’m marrying him, that’s just the way it is.” It was the first time she’d ever said it out loud.

  Beau nodded and before Sara realized what had happened, his lips touched hers. Fire burned where he kissed her. He pulled back but kept his face close. “I don’t suppose you would want to be kissing friends?”

  Sara touched her mouth, slightly embarrassed.

  Pulling her to him, he kissed her again. Sara felt herself give into him. Her whole body reached back to him. Sara tried to pretend this didn’t mean anything. She thought of the fact that she technically wasn’t engaged yet and that Jonathon had wanted her to date lots of guys . . . even though—technically—he was back now. Did that still count? She couldn’t lie to herself; she’d been thinking about that night in the grove and the way he smelled and how he smiled kind of to the side when he thought something was very amusing.

  “Beau!” She forced herself away from him, sucking in a breath.

  “You kissed me back.” His voice was soft, and he tried to pull her back to him.

  Sara frowned. “I thought you said you couldn’t marry me anyways.”

  Chapter 23

  He sighed and let go of her. “You’re right. I should just take you home. But—I can’t.” He went to the stair rail and banged his hand against it sharply. “I shouldn’t be thinking about you day and night and wondering if you’re going to show up in class with a piece of glass on your finger.” He put his hand in his hair and ruffled it up in frustration. “But I do.” He searched her face.

  Sara stood her ground, not moving.

  Beau looked her up and down. “It is easy between us . . . and you feel it.” It was more of an accusation than a statement. He was referring to her Beatrice article.

  She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Here, come outside, this is what I wanted to show you.” Abruptly he pulled her with him.

  Sara followed him in confusion. “So we’re clear.”

  Beau sat on a bench and patted the space next to him, and his eyes looked warm, reflecting the fire on the porch. “Oh, yeah. We’re clear.” He smiled. “What were we talking about?”

  Sara inhaled deeply. The mountain air was tinged with the smell of campfire. It reminded her of roasting smores. “I haven’t officially told him yet, but I am marrying Jonathon.” She tried to sound convincing and collapsed into the chair. “Gosh, I feel like I have a double personality when I’m with you or something.”

  Pulling her closer against his side, he ran his hand down her ponytail,
studying her hair for a few seconds in thought. “You’re not schizophrenic; you just have feelings for me . . . and Jonathon.” He said the last word with distaste.

  “Beau,” she said it like a mother says their son’s name when they want to make sure that the naughty behavior would not be continued. “I can only be friends with you.”

  Beau nodded and looked serious. “Okay. I can be a friend to you.” He turned to the outdoor stove and put his hands up to absorb the heat.

  Sara mimicked him, putting her hands up to the warmth too. “It is cozy, isn’t it?” Sara reflected that no one in Wyoming was sitting on a deck this time of year.

  She pointed her finger at him in emphasis. “And you won’t constantly fight with me, and you won’t try to kiss me again?”

  “I can be your friend.” His eyes were serious. “If that’s what you want, I can be that.” He quickly kissed her again.

  She started to pull away and his arm tightened against her. He laughed under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “Beau—” She shook her head. “On second thought, I don’t think we can be friends.”

  His eyes danced in the moonlight. “Sara, don’t you realize that we could be good together?” He turned so he was face-to-face with her. He had the look of a tortured man across his face. “I know you don’t realize it yet, how could you?” He pulled his arms from around her and stood up. “All you see is him and what you think of as him.”

  She stood too. “And don’t do that. It’s like you’re putting doubts in my head. It’s real between Jonathon and me. I know it.” She almost stomped her foot like a two year old.

  “Okay.” He put his arms up in surrender. “I will be a perfect gentleman. And I will be your friend. I can’t guarantee that I won’t argue with you.” He pointed his finger at her. “That just seems to be how we get along.”

  Sara glared at him. Beau seemed different to her since the night of her dad’s funeral, softer.