“Yes, but ...”
Whatever she meant to say, his mom’s reappearance interrupted. Lottie retreated, and he took the traps and the bait she’d prepared, setting one in the bathroom, the other in the bedroom corner. He aimed himself outside then, his mind on doing what he’d planned, but on the stoop, Lottie slipped out, and he paused.
“I ... want to talk. Can I come along?”
He eyed her. “You want to count calves?”
“Will I be in the way?”
Technically, no. Mentally, yes. He had a job to do, one he was used to performing alone, but that felt like an excuse to escape a conversation he was partially afraid of. “Get your coat and put on those boots Mom bought you.”
Lottie nodded and scampered inside, reappearing a couple minutes later. She dashed to his side, her hair flattened to her skull beneath the cap he’d given her. The cold heightened the color on her cheeks. “How do you count calves? Don’t they look alike?”
He smiled on one side of his mouth. “Mostly. But there aren’t too many this time of year, and I’m familiar with the herd.”
They fell silent on their pathway to the barn. Inside, he moved to the stall, leading his horse out and clipping the halter to a ring on the wall. As she had the last time, Lottie stroked the animal and gazed at him.
“I could learn to ride,” she said. “Maybe my uncle has a horse I can use?”
It was a good idea and an important skill to have out here. “I’ll call and ask,” Harlowe said. “But for today, you can ride with me again.”
This remark brought her closer until she impeded his progress. The saddle blanket draped over the animal, he paused and stared at her.
“About last night,” she said. “You’re great. Perfect. Amazing. But I think I gave the wrong impression.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He made to step aside and retrieve the saddle. However, she blocked the way.
“No, I did. I never ... I mean, he and I never ... There was no ... you know.”
“You’re not obligated to tell me.”
“Yes, I am.” Lottie raised her hand and pressed the flat of it to the center of his chest.
The shape of it, the gentle mark of her fingertips, might as well have been a coal, the heat from them spreading outward. Laying her cheek beside them she hooked her other hand in his coat pocket and spoke almost imperceptibly. “I hate myself over it. To think what I was willing to stoop for ...”
Harlowe lowered his hand to the top of her head, his eyes damp. What was there to say to that? He was glad she was facing things, whatever they were. At the same time, he didn’t want to be saddled with being her savior. He didn’t say so, however, but waited until her fingers loosened, detaching himself and retrieving the saddle. The girth tightened, the stirrups adjusted, he swung into place and extended his hand.
She stared at it, a second later, rising up behind him. Her cheek pressed to his back, her arms moving around his sides, no words were necessary.
CHAPTER 4
The majesty of the state, purple mountains rising around them, and rugged slopes lined with larch and fir and pine, stole her breath. She was a speck amidst so much grandeur. But the man, dusty blue jeans, worn boots, his cheeks brushed with a few days’ growth of beard, he was a fixture among it, as meant to exist in that environment as the boulders jutting out from the path.
Lottie spent the majority of their time together, drinking in the vision, and something ... right ... grew within her, healing the pain that’d encircled her heart. Back atop Harlowe’s horse, the flex of his waist and stretch of his thighs, the strength that radiated from him made her want to live again. To find that secure, contented feeling she’d been searching for since her dad died.
She, in no way, blamed him for her missteps, but could see her need for the other man as part of that search. She’d chosen wrong and paid the price. Yet, here was a chance to do it right.
The horse picked his way, surefooted, across the uneven terrain, and it occurred to her, a half hour into their ride, that he wasn’t headed home. Lottie peered around the side at where the trail disappeared into the trees. “We finished the counting and checked the fence. Why are we going this way?”
“Little secret,” Harlowe replied. “And I thought you’d like to have lunch.”
A smile fitted on her lips, anticipation building. When he stopped, she saw nothing more than she’d seen for several miles. He helped her down and took her hand, leading her after him through the thick growth to a clearing that stretched east to a ledge.
“Oh ... wow ... Harlowe ...”
He slowed his steps, guiding her to the narrow point where, below them, lay acres and acres of untended forest. This was the edge of the earth and her balanced on its rim. Not perilous, as she had been in Atlanta, where pseudo-safety gleamed in the everyday and familiar, but instead, assured ... that in the idea of danger was the freedom she longed for.
“Do you notice it?” she asked. She glanced backward at him. He still held her hand, his callused palm slightly damp.
“The view?” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Not as much as I should. It looks beautiful right now.”
Aware he’d paid her a compliment, she smiled. “The view home is pretty nice, too.” She waited for his lips to curve before facing outward again, but she tightened her grip on his hand, the rush of such an extreme height making her lightheaded.
“I ... I needed this,” she said. The words left her lips, and she reversed. “Thank you.”
His chin dipped, and he tugged her backwards to a seat on a stone outcropping, warmed by the afternoon sun. He produced a pair of sandwiches and a partial bag of potato chips. He downed the sandwich quick, but didn’t touch the chips.
“You don’t usually eat when you work,” she said. This was more a gut statement. He’d altered his day for her by coming here, after all.
“Not usually. I’m too busy, and the cows don’t care.”
“What if you had help?” she asked. “What if you didn’t have to do all this by yourself?”
He tilted his head. “I’d be fighting for your attention then.”
She smiled. It was like him to say that. “No fighting,” she replied.
They fell silent and the quiet of the land captured her. The sky was clear and cobalt blue, the quiet not really quiet at all. Instead, it was filled with hundreds of sounds, from the hiss of the air to the twitter of birds. Lacking car horns, engine noises, and, most of all, people.
It was the people who’d made her stay at home impossible. More than her suitor’s unwanted pursuit, she’d carried the condemnation of other people’s gazes. Her job became too difficult to complete, showing up for work almost painful. Going home hadn’t relieved it because of his unwanted phone calls.
But here, she faced only mountains, heard only nature’s voice, and that of the man at one with it.
He dusted her hair from her cheeks, and Lottie fell into his gaze, her stomach and her heart dancing together.
The pickup in the driveway ruined the happiness he’d had today in one breath, and Harlowe stiffened. His sudden sour mood must’ve communicated to Lottie because her grip on his waist tightened, the pressure of it spanning up his side into his shoulders. He rode close to the house, dismounted, and helped her onto her feet. Taking her hand, possessive, he forced his feet upward. No way she’d go in without him. Putting up the horse could wait.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
The answer stood inside the door, looking like God’s gift to the earth. Kees Butler, black cowboy hat tipped backward, his weight leaned on one hip. His lips fashioned the smile that always made Harlowe want to take a swing. He didn’t, seeing at second glance Kees’ father.
Jack Butler had history with his parents, most of it negative. As much as he disliked ... and distrusted ... Kees, the same could be said of his father. With one exception. A number of years ago, the Butlers had taken in a young girl whose parents died in a fire about fifty m
iles away. Mrs. Butler had known the parents and persisted with local and state authorities until they’d been given custody. They’d eventually adopted the girl, and she was, by all appearances a happy child.
“Harlowe.” Jack Butler addressed him, but made no other friendly overture. His gaze switched to Lottie and paused. “Hoyle’s daughter. What a pretty thing you are.”
Lottie’s cheeks turned ten shades of red. Harlowe’s own flamed, but for an entirely different reason. Hoyle and Jack hadn’t gotten along, so a thousand unspoken words were said between the lines of his greeting. Lottie would have no idea, but her gaze wary, seemed to pick up on it anyway. Perhaps, out of her recent experiences. Whatever the case, he was glad she seemed wise enough to keep her distance.
When she didn’t respond, Jack Butler stomped one foot and glanced back toward his mom. She looked as if she held an invisible sword in one hand, the blade tipped in his direction.
“As I said, it’s Mallory’s tenth birthday, and Glenda’s got it in her mind to make it extra special. She wants to set up the carousel. You’ve got the key to it.”
“I have the key,” Harlowe said.
Jack glanced at him, his mouth set in annoyance.
Harlowe ignored it. “You want to use it, I’ll have to help. It’s heavy and old. Plus, it’ll take more than us to lift it.”
“I figured that,” he said, “and I’ve got some others lined up.”
“When?” his mom asked.
Jack faced her again. “Two weeks, Saturday. I’m hoping the weather holds out.”
If not for Mallory’s happiness, he’d hope it didn’t. Harlowe tried to bury his discontent.
He didn’t like being angry and hated that the Butlers always made him react. He justified it, in part, saying you didn’t need to be friends with everyone. Throughout life, there would be those who were better kept at arm’s length. In that, though, he heard his dad saying you had to try and be neighborly, even if it hurt. His dad had been a better man than he was.
“You’re all invited,” Jack said, focusing his gaze on Lottie again. “Lottie, isn’t it?”
Lottie, her fingers still in his, gave a silent nod.
“Please come.” With that, Jack angled himself toward the door. “You have my number. I want to set it in place the Friday before. Call me on Thursday and we’ll confirm the time.”
Harlowe inclined his head, unspeaking, and stood rigid until Jack and Kees had made their way out. He cleared his throat and spat through the door in their wake. His mom’s sharp prod turned his gaze around.
“That was unnecessary,” she said, withdrawing her hand.
“You don’t like them either.”
“That may be, but now someone has to scrub the floor.”
She whirled in place as if she planned to do just that, and Harlowe’s gaze fell to Lottie. Seeing the worry settled on her brow, he turned her around and nudged her out the door. “Help me with the horse.”
The quiet in the barn and the sameness of the work seemed to relax them both. Taking her hand, he fitted the brush in it and showed her how to work the bristles over the animal’s coat, using the closeness as an excuse to linger behind her. She glanced upwards, and they exchanged smiles.
“I should put the saddle up,” he said.
He returned and recaptured the brush, giving a few final sweeps. He unclipped the lead rope afterward and handed it to Lottie. “You want to put him in the stall?”
She hesitated, an instant, one hand stroking the animal’s muzzle. He dropped the rope in her palm and guided her footsteps into the hay-filled area. Harlowe removed the rope and filled the feed bucket.
He waved Lottie outside and closed the door.
“You’ll become an expert before you know it. Maybe I’ll make that call to your uncle later tonight about borrowing a horse ... not that I won’t miss our rides together.”
Her lips forming a soft curve, she approached and his heartbeat took up a tremendous pace. Greater, he knew how she’d felt before. She’d said she had to confess to him; he had the need to do the same.
“You saw my weakness,” he said. “I should do better, but I have no time for his cocky attitude.”
She grasped hold of Harlowe’s coat front, adding pressure to already burdened shoulders. He accepted the weight.
“You’re talking to someone who ran away from her problems, so I’m the last person to judge. Besides, I saw how your mom reacted, not much different from you. I’m curious, though ...” Lottie tilted her head. “How long has this has been going on? Did they do something in particular? Or was it more a collection of everything?”
“The latter, unless my dad had a secret he kept from me.”
Mention of his dad changed her expression. She didn’t say anything, though, but, after a moment’s pause, slid her arms around him and laid her cheek flat to his coat. He wrapped her tight, the weight shifting to a place near his heart. With it, responsibility stared him in the face. He’d carried plenty on his own for years – responsibility for the animals, the house and equipment, his mom’s happiness. He’d never thought a woman’s security would also become his to bear, nor that his dreams would be so fickle when in contact with hers.
But Lottie was a ripple in the larger pond of life that had, the instant she arrived, shifted everything in front of him in a new direction, and that was worth praying about. They had a long way to go and should take wise steps with a clear head, and not one worked up over Kees or anyone else.
“We better go in. Supper’s probably ready, and if we don’t show up, we’ll upset the cook.” Who was worked up enough, after their visitors.
“Speaking of ... tomorrow, dinner is on me,” Lottie said. She leaned against him as they walked from the barn. “Your mom is simply going to have to let me help.”
As it was, it took three days to convince Mrs. Chapman to let her cook dinner. She was fiercely protective of her kitchen. And then, the meal Lottie prepared didn’t go as planned. The mouse, somehow still living in the walls, dashed across the counter, halting a foot from the chicken she’d roasted, whiskers twitching. Her scream brought Harlowe sprinting toward her and his mother swinging the broom.
Unfortunately, the broom also contacted the chicken, which ended up smashed in the floor. Staring at what was left of their meal ... the mouse back inside the wall ... Harlowe suggested they go into town.
“It’s late,” his mom said. “I can make do. The two of you go, but I suggest you get back before midnight or you’ll wake up tired.”
Lottie regretted the loss of the chicken, but looked forward to going out. She begged a few minutes to change, though her choices of clothing were severely lacking. She switched her button up for a wool sweater and ran a brush through her hair. She added a locket at the last minute.
Lottie emerged in Harlowe’s direct view. “This feels like a date,” she said.
He smiled. “You can call it one if you like. You look nice.”
She acknowledged his compliment with a smile and a curtsey, her fingers gripping an invisible dress. He chuckled and nodded toward the door. “If you’re ready?”
Driving the long empty road between the Chapman’s place and the center of town had been intimidating when she’d done it during the day. It was even more so at night, the pavement swerving left and right between the trees. Harlowe seemed comfortable, however, and so after a bit, she relaxed, her thoughts fleeing home.
She missed her mom. That didn’t really surprise her. She’d left suddenly, after all. That same fact gave her regret and something larger – forgiveness. Her mom’s refusal to talk about her dad, her need to move on and find happiness again, weren’t an issue anymore. She’d resented it when faced with it every day, but from here, she had a new perspective, a softer one. Telling her mom was an issue. She didn’t want to say something so important over the phone, but it’d be months before she’d even think of returning.
Lottie turned her head, barely discerning Harlowe’s outline in t
he darkness, and realized she’d made up her mind. She was, perhaps, still hiding from what’d happened. It felt so fresh. But greater than that was all that might happen in the future. A relationship, at this early stage, frightened her. Harlowe didn’t, and knowing that, she couldn’t walk away.
“Deer!”
Harlowe’s shout turned her gaze forward. He swerved to avoid the majestic animal, and the car’s semicircle flung her against the door. Sailing down the embankment, they plowed, bumper deep, in the grassy verge and came to a halt, the truck wedged tight in the soil.
“You okay?” Harlowe reached for her, taking her hand.
Lottie pulled in a shaky breath.
“I’m fine, but ...” She gazed out the window. They were a long way from anywhere ... without a phone. “What do we do now?”
Harlowe withdrew his hand, studying the landscape. “If I’m correct, we’re not far from Pastor Harris’s place.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
He smiled. “I’m not. We’re going to have to walk to get there, though.”
A walk that turned bitterly cold by the time they’d hiked the couple miles to the driveway. A small square place sat behind the trees, golden light flooded, warm, out the wide front windows. A battered pickup was parked on the left, behind it, barely visible, a weathered shed. Her teeth chattering, fingers crammed in her pockets, Lottie bent forward and willed her legs to move. She trembled on the doorstep.
Harlowe knocked, and the door opened to Pastor Harris’s smiling face and a flood of welcome heat. She gazed past them and worry replaced her expression. “Harlowe? Is there trouble?”
He pointed toward the road. “I drove down the embankment, a few miles west, avoiding a buck. Not sure I can get it out without a tow truck and daylight.”
She seemed to take that in, then jumped in place and reversed. “Come in. You’re cold ... Go right over and sit by the fire. It’ll have you warmed up in no time.”
Seated on the raised stone hearth, Lottie turned her face toward the flames, the flickering orange heat slowly thawing her out. Eventually, a film of sweat formed on her forehead.
A Taste of Dixie Page 4
