“I don’t think that’s fair—”
He holds a hand up, stopping me. “Let me finish. We have a job to do. We need to be sure everyone is prepared. People outside these walls aren’t as lucky as us. They have even more weight on their shoulders, as they face the possibility of being snowed in without supplies. Maybe even losing their electricity, heat to their homes. And all you can think about is how you don’t want to be here. How you can’t be bothered to hand out a few flyers. It’s maddening.”
His words make a white heat flush my face. I feel as if he’s slapped me, his assessment of me stinging my cheeks like a thousand pin pricks.
Because, deep down, I know he’s right. And it hurts to hear the truth about yourself.
I look down at my lap, no longer able to meet his smoldering gaze. I don’t know what to say…what to do. He’s gone quiet. I can feel his gaze, heavy as a weight on me, waiting for a response.
Tears burn at the backs of my eyes, threatening to fall, to further humiliate me.
I lift the papers from the seat. Open my car door and clear my throat that now feels thick with shame and say, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
I step out, shutting the door behind me. I take a deep breath, using the brief moment before he gets out of the truck, to compose myself. I press my eyes with the backs of my hands.
I won’t let him see that he’s gotten to me. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
I hear the driver’s side door shut. His boots strike the cobblestones as he approaches. He takes the papers from my hands. Opens the door and puts them back on the seat of the truck, then closes the door softly.
And takes me into his arms.
I resist, standing still, frozen, like a human popsicle, convinced his touch won’t be enough to defrost me.
But his big strong arms wrap around mine, pressing me into him.
Two traitorous tears sneak past the corners of my eyes. Rolling down my face. I reach up quickly, wiping them away, erasing their existence.
His hand strokes my back. Smooths my hair. His chin rests on the top of my head. I’ve always loved how I fit into his arms like a puzzle, his height cocooning my body like a shield. He murmurs softly, “I didn’t mean to be harsh. I know this all brings back a lot of emotions for you.”
I want to fight him. Pull away. Tell him I don’t need him—I don’t need anyone. Instead, I find myself relaxing into his embrace. I turn my head and rest my cheek on his broad, muscled chest.
And I melt. Accepting his petting, his soft words. His comfort.
“These tears aren’t just about being back in Cedar Creek, are they?”
I shake my head, my skin rubbing against the soft flannel of his shirt.
“There’s another reason you’ve stayed away. One that made you keep everyone at arm’s length. One that makes it too hard to be here. Isn’t there?”
I give a small nod, focusing my energy on holding back the damn tears that’s threatening to burst.
He takes my hand in his, leaving the papers, the truck, our task behind. Leading me down Main Street. And I know exactly where he’s taking me.
7
Ava Marie
Buck Jones knows me better than anyone on this Earth. He knows why I run from love. Why I close myself off. Why I run from home. He knows the real reason I spend my days on frivolous meaningless things like television and fashion. Why I now choose to spend my nights surrounded by people I’ll never truly care about.
When you’ve been hurt like I have—losing my mother at the age of seventeen, those tumultuous years when a girl needs her mother the most, then watching my dad suffer, pulling away from me, retreating into his own pain—you have a tendency to close yourself off.
Yes, I left my dad. But after so many years of seeing that deep pain shoot across his face, I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew he was thinking of her, missing her, feeling tortured just by my presence—it broke my fucking heart.
That kind of loss wrecks you.
And you’ll do anything to protect yourself from having to go through it again.
Even if it means being alone.
We get to the end of Main Street and turn off onto the dirt path, leading to the tree lined meadow that extends from Main to the wall.
Where we bury our dead.
The white gravestones stand, humble and quaint on the perfectly landscaped lawn. We continue along the path until we reach hers.
Marie Ann Redmond. Devoted wife. Loving mother. The best of all of us.
And it’s true. She was the best of Cedar Creek. There was no one as loving, giving, or generous as my mother. If someone was sick, there was a pot of homemade chicken soup on our stove, ready to be delivered.
If someone had a loved one pass, she took their scraps of fabric and sewed them a memory quilt of that person.
A tired mother who just needed a nap at the end of the day? They knew they could drop their baby off at the Castle for a few hours. My mother would hold the little bundle, rocking and singing until the young mother returned, rested with a smile of gratitude on her face.
I could never live up to her memory. I don’t even try.
“Mama,” I whisper, kneeling by her grave. “I miss you so much.” Buck kneels down beside me, his arm a reassuring weight around my shoulders.
I talk to her. I cry. I remember. The whole time I’m sobbing and murmuring like a lunatic, he’s there. Right by my side. Kneeling silently with his arm around me. Moments feel like hours as I finally allow myself to process the depth of my emotions.
Grief rushes over me, threatening to wash me away. Guilt ebbs its way into the crest of a new wave and I allow myself to fully experience that, too, surviving the heavy weight as it crashes down around me. Anger wells in my chest at everything that’s been taken from me. Anger at myself for everything I’ve taken from everyone else. It burns through me, hot and hellish until it turns to ash.
When I finally stand, I feel relieved. Cleansed. Ready to become who I know I’m meant to be. Buck hands me a clean cloth from his pocket. I accept it gratefully, drying my tears. “Thanks. For bringing me here. You always seem to know what I need.”
“I’ll always be here for you, Ava Marie. Always.” He leans down, placing a chaste kiss on my cheek. When he pulls away, my skin tingles.
Leaving me wondering what it would feel like to kiss him again. After all this time.
He takes my hand. It feels familiar. Warm and comforting, yet there’s a newer, deeper sense of trust between us that somehow radiates between our clasped hands. His thumb runs over the back of my hand and I look up at him. He gives me a soft, smile. One glance at his eyes affirms what I’m feeling; whatever flame that burned for him still smolders deep within me.
Eternal.
We make our way back to the truck. My head is clear. The release at my mother’s grave is one I’ve needed for a long time. I feel as if the experience has changed me. Allowing me to see life in Cedar Creek through a new lens.
We have people to visit. My people.
As we go from home to home, I’m overwhelmed by the warm welcome I receive from each familiar face. They tell me they’re happy I’m safe. Glad to see me home. That they’ve missed me.
I’m surprised to find that I’ve missed them as well. I feel a tugging in my soul, a yearning to be surrounded by this community.
We’ve made it all the way down the main stretch. We get to my Aunt Betty’s house. The last one on the left, before the road winds up to the Castle—the one with the bright pink door, herbs growing in the side garden.
Buck turns to me, knowing I need to be alone with my aunt. “I’ll give you some time to catch up. I’ll pick you up in an hour. We’ve got a visit at the Senior Center scheduled.”
Another gentle kiss on the side of my face. This one lingers longer than the first. Leaves my skin tingling and flushed. Buck climbs into his truck. I raise my hand in a wave, watching him disappear from sight.
Just as
I go to knock, the door flings open.
Aunt Betty’s heavily made up face appears, a smile stretching across it. She’s got a colorful scarf wrapped around her head, a hot pink apron over her ample bosom. “Sweetheart, you’re home!” She pulls me into a huge hug, squeezing me until my sides ache. She pulls me over the threshold, bracelets jangling as we go.
We enter her warm kitchen and it smells just as I remember. Tea, baked treats, and incense. “Sit, sit.” She points to the small wooden table in the center of the room. The tabletop is covered with a robin’s egg blue tablecloth.
My eyes gaze around the room, taking it all in. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”
“Nope. You left on your twenty first birthday—August 28th. Nothing has changed in this house in the two years, three months and ten days you’ve been gone.”
“You kept track?”
“Of course, I did!” she points to the calendar she keeps on the wall. There’s a red x over each day that’s past. “I share that trait with your father. When we were growing up, we were always one upping each other on remembering details. How was your birthday by the way?”
I turned twenty-three this past August. It was an evening of debauchery, booze, sex, and underground gambling. I woke feeling lonely, empty, with a headache like I’d knocked my head against the wall. I lie, “It was awesome. A lot of fun.”
She’s preparing tea at the stove. She must drink twenty cups of it a day, the caffeine overload explaining her unearthly energy. She looks over her shoulder. “Did you get my package?”
Her package was a wooden box filled with crystals, each one marked with a special power. The ability to heal. Bring happiness. Mend hearts. I tossed it into the back of my closet as soon as I opened it. “Yes. I received the present. Thank you.”
She snorts. “You never did believe in things that couldn’t be proven. You probably didn’t believe me when I told you that clairvoyant predicted this very storm. But she did. Even if you don’t think all this its true, you still know I must read your cards while you’re here, right?”
I grin. “It’s all nonsense, but if it makes you happy, I’ll do it.”
She stirs the cups, smiling at me over her shoulder. “Humor me. It’s just for fun.”
She takes off her apron, hanging it on a metal hook that’s shaped like a pig with wings. She brings two cups of tea over to the table. Mine heavily laced with milk and sugar, just the way I like it. I take a sip and memories of spending time with my aunt flood over me. I take a pastry from the plate she offers me. It’s buttery and flaky. Heaven on my tongue. “Thank you.”
“You always had a sweet tooth. Good thing you also had your tomboy propensities, climbing trees, running races, riding horses, otherwise you might have ended up like me.” She laughs, patting her tummy over her loose, flower printed dress.
“You’re as beautiful and perfect as ever,” I say, taking another bite of the dessert.
She plops down in her chair, patting my hand. “Thank you, sweetheart. You always make me feel good about myself.”
Her eyes start twinkling as she gives me a giddy smile. “You should feel good about yourself. You’re one of my favorite people, Aunt Betty.”
“And I caught a glimpse of another one of your favorite people kissing your cheek when he dropped you off just now. What’s the scoop with you two?”
I take a sip of tea, placing my cup gently on my saucer and ignore her question. “Oh, I brought you some hoop earrings that you’re going to love. Remind me to give them to you next time you’re up at the Castle.”
She gives a great big belly laugh. “Ah, avoiding the question. So, it’s just as your old aunt suspected—all the feels are still there, just bubbling below the surface.”
I give her a look. “Can we not?”
“It’s just that I know that you know that the two of you go together like peanut butter and jelly.”
“More like oil and water.” I change the subject. “Let’s do the tarot reading. Now.”
She knows I’m appeasing her to get her to stop talking about Buck. But she also really wants to do the reading and knows that I could rescind my offer at any moment. “Fine. We’ll put a pin in your love life…for now.”
She reaches up into the twists of her scarf, pulling out the deck of gold gilded cards and setting them beside her.
I want to laugh but at the same time, a sense of reverence washes over me. In the past, some of her readings have been accurate. I wonder what this one will say.
Her face becomes somber. “Set your intention. What do you desire for this reading?”
I stare up at the yellowed ceiling and think. I don’t usually take my aunt’s sessions seriously, but today has been especially heavy, the past twenty-four hours a whirlwind of emotions. Returning home. Seeing Buck at the gate, ‘all the feels,’ rushing right back. My father looking ill. The wake up spanking I’d received. Buck calling me selfish, then taking me to the gravesite. The total emotional breakdown at my mother’s grave. The warm welcome from the people of town.
Buck kissing my cheek. Twice.
I just want to know what will become of my time here. What to expect. Where I stand with Buck.
Sensing I’m ready, she gives a nod. “First, I read your tea leaves. She holds her hand out for my empty cup. I give it to her. She swirls the cup, peering into it. She looks back up at me. “Your intentions revolved around a certain gentleman? Name rhyming with a four-letter word I can’t say?”
I blush. My tea leaves ratted me out that quickly? “Maybe.”
She squints into the leaves. “Hmm, looks like there’s a reconciliation brewing between two young people. A male and a female. But there’s a feisty blonde desperate to get in the way and muck it up.”
I rack my brain to think of all the blondes in town. “Carrie Anderson? That snake. She always did want to get between us—”
My aunt cuts off my rant. “It’s not Carrie. It’s another blonde.” She looks pointedly at the highlighted messy bun on top of my head.
“Me?”
“Yes. You. You’ve endured pain and you’ve shut him out. Under the guise of him being too controlling, and you wanting out of Cedar Creek.” She stares at the cup, swirls it once more. Makes a hmm noise. “That’s interesting.”
“What?” I’m leaning over, trying to get a peak of the leaves. Silly.
“The leaves are telling me why you left town in the first place.” She looks up at me curiously. “What keeps you from here?”
“Boredom? Internet connections? Restaurants open after eight at night.” I try to laugh off her inquisition, but she’s dancing around the truth and it’s making me feel clammy inside.
Her gaze seems miles away as she stares into the cup. She speaks softly as if talking to herself. She shakes her head. “No. That’s just what you are telling yourself. I see her, your mother…Marie.”
My stomach clenches at the mention of her name.
“Memories of your mother. Her ghost is everywhere for you. And it became too painful. So, you chose to run away from here and be around things that have nothing to do with her.”
It eerie, Aunt Betty saying all my inner most thoughts, ones that have been plaguing me since my return, out loud. This is exactly why I wanted to leave and never come back. I didn’t want to have to face the pain. I want to deny everything the stupid tea is saying about me, but I’ve already seen it for myself at my mother’s grave site. I shake my head. “You’re making this up.”
She shakes her head, as if snapping out of a trance. She holds the cup up to me, as if it’s proof that what she says is true. “It’s all in the leaves.”
“Let’s move on.” My gut wrenches. The accuracy—it’s uncanny, unsettling.
She reads my face, understanding she’s gone too deep. She smiles brightly, discarding the cup to the side. “Let’s read your cards.”
“Alright.”
She lifts the cards from the table with reverence. “I’m doing what I cal
l the three-trick pony. Three cards. Three meanings. All culminating to guide you on your quest. To aid you with direction on your odyssey.” She holds the deck out to me. “Blow on them.”
I obey, pursing my lips and releasing a flow of air over her hands. As I blow, I picture Buck and my father at the dinner table as they were last night.
She closes her eyes. Her lips move quickly, but silently as she spreads the deck on top of the table. Without opening her eyes, she hold her hands over the fan of gold, pausing over one. Her hand hovers there for a moment. She gives herself a nod, opens her eyes, and flips the card over. A jester dressed in green and gold stands on a cliffside, with a yellow background spread behind him. He holds a flute in one hand, a bird in the other.
She sucks air in between her teeth. “The Fool.”
“Oh great. That’s insulting.”
She holds out her hand, giving me a look of disapproval. “Just a minute. It doesn’t mean you’re a fool. The Fool is the zero card. Perfect to represent the beginning of this new journey. He represents your current innocence, and your journey to enlightenment. But it’s also a warning.”
Her tone is solemn. Her face etched with concern. She’s drawing me in. I lean in closer. “What warning? What does it mean?”
“It’s viewed as a warning against behaving irresponsibly in an upcoming venture.” She eyes me accusingly, as if I’ve already made plans to rock the boat during my stay.
“Relax, Aunt Betty. Last time I checked my social calendar, it was completely blank for about a week. I promise, I have no ‘ventures’ on my horizon.”
She holds her hands up in surrender. Her brows raise, proclaiming her innocence. “I wasn’t saying that you had any plans to sneak out or throw a wild party. I’m just saying to be mindful. Maybe keep a handle on that temper of yours.”
“Always good advice. Next card.” Despite my disbelief in all this nonsense, I find myself wondering what the next one will reveal. She leaves the fool sitting in the center of the table. He stares up at me, a smirk on his thin face.
Tamed by Her Cowboy Page 8
