“I’m so glad you’re home,” she says, cupping my face.
I nod, unable to find my voice. As happy as I am to see her and Uncle Bobby, I don’t belong on a ranch. I belong in the city.
Tyler
I slam my hand against my steering wheel to keep in time with the beat of the song blasting through my speakers. The need to hit something is prevalent and I haven’t felt like this in a long time, not since I found my girlfriend Annamae - now my ex – playing “mow my lawn” with her momma’s landscaper behind her garage. Nothing really prepares you to find your girlfriend like that. My fist knew what to do though. It was only after I beat the kid to a pulp that she proclaimed her love for him. With that I just laughed and walked away. My one-year of dating a Southern Belle went down the drain just like that. That wasn’t a good day, but today, while shitty, ain’t the same. The sudden onset of energy needs to be released and the only way I know how to do that is to find a punching bag or go ride the bull at Red’s.
I don’t know what I was expecting today, but that wasn’t it. How could I not know that was Savannah standing there? I should’ve known. We’re connected. I know we’re all grown up now, but we were close. We were friends for a long time. Hell, I’d even seen her naked a time or two even though it was long before she was looking like she’s looking now... and damn, is she fine now.
I pull into the dirt parking lot of Red’s and shut off the engine. Not too many cars are here tonight, which is just perfect for me. This is the town’s watering hole – for everyone. Red doesn’t care. He’s been serving minors for as long as he can remember, never afraid that the law will crack down on him. We’re the epitome of Small Town America and that means the police chief is someone’s daddy, uncle, brother or cousin and probably sitting at the bar with a cold one in his hand, not giving a rat’s ass if some minor is in here. Just don’t speed. If you’re caught speeding, he’ll bust your ass and make you pay a hefty fine. I never speed.
When I walk in, my best friend Jeremiah is leaning over a table full of girls getting his flirt on. I saddle up to an empty stool and tap on the bar. Della’s working the bar tonight. She smiles and nods giving me the indication that she knows what I want. I look over my shoulder at Jeremiah and have to laugh. He’s the town’s poster boy for a redneck. He’s always dressed in plaid with his big shiny belt buckle, cowboy hat and boots. The boy even walks like he just dismounted a bull and always has his thumbs in his pockets. He’s who the Yankees make fun of. The chicks dig him though, especially the ones just passing through. They all think they’ve found themselves a real-life cowboy. They just don’t know that he’s a real-life horn dog too.
Jeremiah Moore is a man who can’t form a proper sentence, unless you’re a chick he’s trying to pick up. Then he becomes mister cool cat or whatever corny ass nickname he’s given himself. He’s articulate and smooth and the girls are putty in his hands. It makes me sick sometimes, but he’s still my best friend and I know he’d do anything for me, as I would him. It still grates me that this oaf gets any chick he wants, yet I have to work my tail off for a little attention. It dawns on me that I have to keep Savannah away from him. Even though they know each other, he’ll really want to get to know her now.
Red’s is everything you want in a bar. It’s open all week long, they serve the greasiest burgers in town, beer’s always cold and the women are a-plenty. The bartenders know everything about everyone. There are so many peanut shells on the ground that it’s a new type of flooring. Music’s always playing and you’re bound to find at least one of your friends hanging out. On the weekends there’s dancing and a few bands stop through every now and again. Red even has a mechanical bull-riding contest once a year, and that brings in a lot of city folk. Red’s is the place that those city girls like to escape to find their “cowboy”. We don’t mind. It’s always nice having Southern Belles around.
The cold amber liquid feels good coating the back of my throat, but I don’t have time to savor it as a slap on the back makes me spit and choke. I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth as I cough and regain my composure. Jeremiah sits down next to me, his own mug of beer resting in his hand.
“She here?” I look at him out of the corner of my eye and shake my head. His eyebrows are waggling up and down. He does that when he talks about any girl, but what he doesn’t know is that Savannah McGuire is beautiful. What he also doesn’t know is that I messed up the reunion and her attitude is less than friendly.
“Yeah, man, she’s here.” I chug the rest of my beer and set the mug on the bar, signaling for another one. I’m not about to sit here and get drunk, but the liquid definitely curbs my piss-poor attitude where she’s concerned. “She arrived with legs that are a fucking mile long and she wears them damn high ass heels that we’re always making fun of.”
He looks at me questioningly. “Mousy?”
I nod and tip my mug back. “I wouldn’t call her that though. She looks nothing like she did when she was twelve. Hell man, when she got off the bus, there was another chick with her and I thought that she was the other one. Mou… Savannah gave me such attitude that she ignored me all the way back to Bobby’s.”
“She smokin’?”
I nod, reluctantly. I don’t want to think of her like that and I definitely don’t want Jeremiah thinking of Savannah in that way, but damn it all to hell, she’s the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever lain my eyes on.
Jeremiah laughs and slams his glass onto the bar. It’s a good thing it’s half empty; Della hates it when her bar gets messy. “So if she has legs for miles and she’s smokin’, why aren’t they wrapped around your waist?”
I sigh out of frustration that I shouldn’t feel. The thought of her and me like that overtakes my mind. Savannah and I didn’t keep in touch. We weren’t able to. To me, she was a friend that I was growing up with and teasing along the way from when she got braces, to when she’d come running into the house because we drenched her with water. She wasn’t supposed to grow up and be beautiful. She was supposed to stay the same so we could pick up where we left off. Now she’s like that senior girl in high school that all the freshman boys had hard-ons for.
“Savannah…” Even saying her name overloads my senses. I had hoped she’d say “hi” to her aunt and uncle and we’d hop in my rig and come here to Red’s to talk and hang out. “She doesn’t belong here,” I sigh with a hint of sorrow in my voice. I know I shouldn’t care, but deep down I do. I’ll wake up tomorrow, go to work and pretend that I’m not watching for her. When lunch rolls around, I’ll opt to eat in the barn and stay far away from the house and Aunt Sue’s cooking. I need to keep my distance and not let lines get crossed.
“Did you pick her up and spin her around like they do in the romance flicks?” Jeremiah’s always watches movies to learn how to impress the girls. It works for him and maybe I should do the same, but by the way she was standing there all high and mighty, I think she would’ve handed my ass to me with her purse.
“That was my plan, but I picked the wrong girl up.” I shake my head. “She stood there with this attitude and I was like, ‘what’ and she pointed out that she was Savannah and not the other girl who I kept calling Savannah. Then she goes and tells me to call her Vanna. Can you believe that shit?”
“I can’t believe you picked up the wrong girl. That’s some mean shit, Ty.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, she sure showed me what her big city attitude is like. Girl needs to remember where she came from.”
Jeremiah laughs and beckons for a refill. “You gonna show her?”
I nod. “Bobby says she needs to work on the ranch. I guess she did some shit that her momma ain’t too happy with. Little Miss Savannah is gonna have to sling some shit.”
“I’ll be there to watch that. There’s nothing like a fine ass chick bending over to pick up some manure.” Normally I’d disagree with him, but knowing I’ll be watching her get dirty is pretty exciting. “What’d’ya say we take these two behind me out and
show them a good time?”
I look over my shoulder at the two girls behind us and wink. A good time is exactly what I need to get my mind off of Savannah.
Savannah
My eyes squint, trying to block out the bright sunlight beaming through the windows. I can’t cover my face with a blanket or pillow because it’s too damn hot and I’ll suffocate. I’m going to have to ask Uncle Bobby to take me to town to buy some blackout curtains because I’m not going to be able to sleep once the sun rises.
I roll over toward the wall and open my eyes slowly. This was my room when I was little and nothing has changed. The bubblegum-pink walls are dull in color and in desperate need of being revived or painted a different color. My basket of My Little Ponies still sits in the corner from when I was seven. They were my most prized possessions and Tyler always tried to steal them from me. Why Aunt Sue kept them is beyond me. She had to know I was going to grow out of playing with plastic horses with multicolored hair. Unless Tyler still likes to play with them. That thought alone makes me giddy.
I can hear the dull buzz of a mower off in the distance. It’s something I don’t hear in the City unless I’m walking through Central Park or am at a friend’s summer home. Can’t say if I’ve missed that sound or not, around here it means work and that means Uncle Bobby and his ranch hands are already working the fields. Last night we didn’t talk about what chores I’d have to do. If I had my way, the list would be non-existent. It’s bad enough that I have to do homework and mail it in once a week. “Homeschooling” is what they called it when my mom was filling out the paperwork to send me here. It was the only option, because I refused to start a new school. If she’s going to send me away, I’m going to make it difficult on her. I thought I had outsmarted her until she told me that I have to pass the rest of my classes with flying colors or I wouldn’t be allowed to go to Paris in the fall, and I so want to go to Paris.
I throw back the sheet and blanket that’s covering me. It’s blazing hot and there’s no air conditioner in my room. That’s another thing I’m going to have to ask Uncle Bobby about. I don’t know how anyone can sleep up here with this stifling heat. Sleep evaded me last night because of the humidity and the noises from the outside. I’m used to horns honking and sirens every half hour, people yelling and gunshots being fired, not crickets and coyotes howling at the moon. I don’t want to be here and it’s not because I don’t love my aunt and uncle, it’s because this place isn’t for me. Maybe at one time I fit in, but that was another time. I’ve adapted, changed. I don’t know anything about haying or working a ranch and I definitely don’t have the necessary wardrobe to be here.
My feet touch the hardwood floor and I relish in the cool feeling of the old wood. I could sleep on the floor. I could move my mattress down here or even sleep outside on the covered porch like I did many times when I was younger. Uncle Bobby never liked that though, and would sleep out there too, always afraid of a wanderer coming onto his land looking for a place to sleep or a day job to make some quick cash. No, I can’t imagine he’d agree to me doing that now, not after what my mom told him.
As soon as I’m halfway down the stairs, the smell of freshly baked muffins makes my stomach growl. I haven’t had a home cooked breakfast in years. Cold cereal or a bagel from the corner coffee shop is how I usually start my mornings. Lunch is cafeteria food or, if I’m feeling brave, the corner bodega when I shouldn’t be leaving campus. Dinner is also a solo affair. We’d have random maids who made sure something frozen was available, but the sit down dinners we had after church when we lived here ceased to exist once we moved to New York.
“Mornin’, Savvy,” Aunt Sue calls out with her back facing me. I stand in the doorway and watch her for a moment. She’s still as short as I remember. I used to ask Uncle Bobby how she could reach the top of the cupboards and he used to tease, saying that she was magic. It’s the same magic that fixed me when I had the flu or my teddy bear had a rip that needed to be sewn. Part of me still wants to believe she’s full of magic and can fix anything. Except for me, that is. According to my mom, I can’t be fixed. I’m on the path to self-destruction and the only cure is going to come from hard manual labor.
The kitchen isn’t like I remember. It seemed smaller when I was a kid, but now it’s a large open space with a lot of natural light coming in. The counter tops that used to be robin’s egg blue are now wood and shiny. The cabinets are white, but don’t reach the ceiling. Resting on top of the cabinets are knickknacks and old mason jars. A huge bay window affords whoever is standing at the sink an opportunity to look out back. I used to have a swing set out there when I was little, but I’m sure that’s long gone. I can barely see the top of the white picket fence that divides the yard from the pasture from where I stand. I have a feeling I’ll be out there by lunchtime doing who knows what and complaining about it. Maybe if I’m lucky, my schoolwork will be the only chore I have to do.
“Good morning.” She turns and smiles, until her eyes take in what I’m wearing. I cross my arms over my mid-section and look away. Everyone is always judging.
Aunt Sue shakes her head. “You don’t want to be dressing like that around here, missy.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, defiantly. No one has cared about the way I dress for as long as I can remember. Why should they start now? Even my very expensive private school mandated that we wear skirts and the ones that were issued were short. They dressed us like every pervert’s fantasy. This is common attire for girls my age, a cami and boxers. Heck most of my friends wear less to bed.
“Them boys outside are girl crazy and you’re ripe for the pickin’.”
“I’m sure they’re far too old for me, Aunt Sue.”
“Mhm,” she mumbles and turns back to the counter. “Uncle Bobby ain’t gonna be too thrilled to see you waltzing around here with no britches on.”
“These are my pajamas. What am I supposed to do, come down dressed to the nines every morning?”
She turns around and wipes her hands on her apron. Every memory I have of her is in this kitchen. Aunt Sue cooks for everyone and for every occasion. “Now, no one says you have to be gussied up for breakfast, just covered is all.”
I try not to roll my eyes, but I can’t help it. Everyone has something to say about me, whether it’s my grades, the way I dress or what I do in my free time. I pick up the carton of orange juice and pour myself a glass before walking to the window and looking out. It looks gorgeous outside and I can see myself lying out in the sun today, catching some rays.
My glass stalls at my lips as Tyler walks past. He doesn’t look my way, but stops by the window and yells at someone. I set down my juice and watch him. He takes off his hat and wipes his sweat with his forearm. I don’t know if Tyler is the guy my mom slipped up about or not, but he’s definitely giving me pause. Not that I’d let him in on that little fact. I lean forward as he pulls the neck of his shirt over his head. The muscles in his back move in fluid motion and all I can think is that guys do not look like this in the city. Of course, guys in the city play soccer in their free time but guys out here lift hay bales for fun and race tractors. I sigh as he tucks his shirt into the back of his jeans and walks out of sight.
“Tyler…” his name escapes from my lips before I realize what I’m saying.
“Savannah,” I turn at the sound of my name to find a shirtless cowboy in the form of Tyler standing in my Aunt’s kitchen. She snickers and scurries away. I swallow hard and try not to stare, but I can’t help it. He grew up nicely.
“What are you doing here?” I already know the answer to my own question, but I need confirmation.
“I’m the ranch hand here.”
My mouth drops open even though I had a feeling that was going to be his answer. He chuckles and shakes his head. This has to be whom my mom was so quietly talking about on the phone.
Tyler
My hand runs over my chest wiping away my sweat. I’m used to Aunt Sue seeing me like this – shirtless, swea
ty and covered in dirt from working the ranch – but not women in barely-there clothing with their arms stationed at their sides and their lips pursed. Savannah swallows hard, making me wonder what’s going through her pretty little head. Is she sorry that she had to move or is she plotting my demise for not recognizing her yesterday? I bet she’s plotting my death. She sucks in her cheek in an effort to what – keep from smiling? Yeah, that’s exactly what she’s doing. Savannah looks at me and rolls her eyes. If I weren’t still embarrassed about yesterday, I’d think her attempt to be prissy is cute. Hell, she is cute, but I can’t be thinking about her like that. It’s not right.
By most standards, not enough time has passed for either of us to forget each other. I know that people change over time and maybe she more than me, but her transformation from the waifish, mousy girl she was is unbelievable. And her toes… what is it with her toes that keep me staring? I’ve never been one to think feet are cute, but damn if her toes aren’t painted pink against the tanned skin of her luscious, long legs, which are begging to be wrapped around my waist.
I chide myself for even thinking of Savannah like that. I don’t care if our mommas had dreams that we’d be hitched; it’s never gonna happen. Women like Savannah don’t marry ranchers unless they’re looking to get away from some crazy ass life in the city, and I know from Uncle Bob that’s not the case here. Miss McGuire went and got herself into some trouble and has been sent back to God’s country to repent, because around these parts we don’t get in trouble. By looking at her, she probably broke a nail and needed rescuing by the local fire department.
I’m not hiding the fact that I’m checking her out and neither is she. I see her pink tongue dart out and wet her lips while I stand in front of her. Everything in me says to look away, to go on about my business and leave her be, but I’m a man and she’s standing in front of me barely dressed - something her aunt and uncle aren’t going to be too appreciative of. Hell, I’m appreciative, but I don’t want to see her like this. I want her body to be left to my imagination.
The Reeducation of Savannah McGuire Page 2
