by Laura Sutton
“What was that, baby girl?” Jason asked, laughter in his voice as he set the dish down and took his seat next to her. Dean did the same on her opposite side.
She reached for the pitcher of tea and began to pour some for everyone, hoping Jason would drop it, but he didn’t.
“Gwynn, what did you mumble under your breath?” he asked again, putting some pasta on her plate, then passing the bowl to Dean. It was all so domestic, so easy, and it made her fall for these two just a little bit more.
She cleared her throat and said, “I said my ass if far from little,” and she took a bite of pasta and almost moaned at the spicy, creamy goodness hitting her tongue.
God, Jason could cook. He made some of the best food she’d ever had, and she’d had lots of food.
Dean barked out a laugh, and Gwynn turned her stunned eyes to him, but he merely shrugged.
“What? I’m glad your ass is far from little. What do you think, Jason?” Dean volleyed the conversation back to Jason, who wore what could only be called a shit-eating grin.
“I think her ass is perfect—round, lush, soft. In fact, maybe after dinner I will show you just how perfect I think your ass is, baby girl.” Gwynn could feel her whole face flush, and she could feel her pulse between her legs, where she was wet from his words.
“I…” she began, but the shrill ring of her cell phone interrupted her.
“I wonder who that could be…” She got up from her seat at the dinner table and went into the front room to retrieve her phone.
She didn’t get to before it went to voicemail, but her stepfather’s number was on the screen. That was curious because she knew he was in New York going through some new author submissions. In fact, his email to her just two days ago said he might not get to her chapters for a week or more, so why the phone call?
She made her way back into the kitchen and sat back down, bewilderment plain on her face because Dean shot her a worried glance.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice concerned.
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know? It was my stepdad who called.” She was staring at her phone, almost afraid to call back.
Her stepfather only called twice a year—on her birthday and on Christmas. All other times they corresponded via email and even handwritten letters. It was odd, but they both shared a love for the written word, so writing long emails to each other worked. Plus, her mother hardly concerned herself with her emails when she was younger, but hated it when he would call her after their divorce.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Is it unusual for him to call you?” Jason asked, this time his hand finding its way onto her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze.
“Yeah, he only calls on my birthday or Christmas. Otherwise we talk via email.” She could feel tears starting to fill her eyes, her mind playing a hundred different scenarios, all worse than the previous.
“Oh, hey now, don’t cry,” Jason said and gathered her into his arms as he scooted his chair closer, and she felt Dean take her hand.
“Yeah, beautiful, don’t cry. I’m sure everything is all right. Just call him back,” Dean told her, squeezing her hand.
No sooner had the words left Dean’s mouth did her phone ring. She answered it right away, putting it on speaker. If it was bad news, she didn’t want to have to repeat it, whatever it was.
“Gwynn! Honey! Hey, it’s Mike. How are you doing?” Her stepdad’s voice was cheerful. He sounded okay, she thought, but that meant nothing to the pessimistic part of her brain.
“Hey Mike, I’m okay. What's going on?” she asked, proud that her voice only slightly trembled.
“You sound upset, princess. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, using the childhood nickname he hadn’t used in years.
She laughed a little. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just concerned because you only call me twice a year, and the last I looked, it’s not Christmas and it’s not my birthday. Is something wrong?” she asked quickly.
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. No, nothing is wrong. I just needed to talk to you about your book. Gwynn, these chapters you sent me are amazing. I showed them to a few other editors here, and they agree you’re on to something wonderful. We want to publish it, like next week.” His excited words came fast through the speaker of the phone.
Gwynn was in shock. Her fingers were numb, and she didn’t know what to say. She looked up from the phone, and both Dean and Jason were smiling—huge, goofy smiles. They looked so happy and proud of her. She couldn’t believe it.
“Gwynn, are you still there?” Mike laughed through the phone, stunning her. She had forgotten about him for a second, lost in her shock and happiness.
“Yeah, I’m here, I’m sorry. I’m not quite done with the first draft. I figure I have about thirty thousand words or so before it’s done,” she said into the phone, still unbelieving that they wanted to publish it, and that she was almost done with the manuscript.
“How long do you think you will need to finish it up? I have to be back in Houston in two weeks. Do you think it could be done by then?”
Gwynn thought about it, and her heart sank. Two weeks? She probably would finish it by then, but if she was done with the book and had to head back to Houston for meetings to get it published, what would keep her here?
She came to the ranch to write her book, never expecting to be able to work so hard and get it written so quickly.
She didn’t want to leave; she wanted to stay. Not to write a book or hide from the world, but because she was happy here with Dean and Jason. This ranch and these men felt like home.
She looked up at them, and their faces now before when their faces looked so happy and full of pride, looked sad. Maybe they didn’t want her to go as much as she didn’t want to leave.
“Yeah, I could be done by then, but I’m not in Houston. I sorta moved out to West Texas to write the novel,” she told him, hoping to maybe buy some time or get him to meet her here, but all he did was laugh.
“Well, it sounds like it worked! Gwynn, I gotta run. I’ve got this dinner I need to get to, but we will meet in Houston in two weeks—you with a finished first draft and me with a contract and an advance. Does that sound good?” he asked, and she couldn’t say no. This had been her dream for as long as she had been dreaming: to be a published author.
“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll talk to you then.” She hung up the phone, happy but miserable at the same time.
She looked up at Jason and Dean, who seemed to have a silent conversation she wasn’t privy to. Dean finally looked at Gwynn and smiled, but the smile didn’t match his eyes.
“So, two weeks?” he asked, and Gwynn just nodded her head.
“Yeah, it looks like I will be out of y’all’s hair sooner than expected,” she said, looking down at her food, her stomach in knots. How can the one thing you always wanted also be tearing you away from the one thing that felt so right, she wondered?
“Hey, you can come back,” Jason said, placing his hand over hers, and she looked up at him, but she knew that was just a fantasy. This whole experience had been a fantasy. They didn’t really want her to stay or come back.
“I guess…” she whispered, not looking at him, all her old insecurities flooding back.
“Hey now, why are we all so sad?” Dean’s calm, deep voice broke into her pity party. She looked at him, and he was smiling again.
“You came out here to write a book, which you did, and it’s being published. So it’s all happening a little faster than you planned, but how is that a bad thing?” he asked. He reached for her hand again and kissed her fingers. “I’m proud of you,” he told her around the kisses he was placing on her hand, and she smiled.
He was right. It wasn’t a bad thing. It was a good thing.
So why did it feel like her world was ending?
Dean
The next two weeks passed in a haze of sorrow and lust. The days were like normal for Dean—working the cattle, b
reaking and riding horses, and all the other mundane tasks that came with running a cattle ranch. The nights, though—they spent the nights loving Gwynn.
The night Gwynn got the phone call from her stepfather, Jason and Dean silently agreed not to ask her to stay. They both knew she needed to take this opportunity, and it wouldn’t be fair to her to hold her back no matter how much they loved her.
She had been gone from the ranch for three days, and it was like a black cloud had moved in when she moved out.
Dean walked into the stables, and Brinny nickered at him sadly, looking for Gwynn.
He stroked her gray head and leaned into her strong neck.
“I know, girl. I miss her too,” he told the horse. Dean knew her leaving would be hard, but he didn’t know it would be this hard. The sun didn’t seem to shine as brightly. Things that had previously made Dean happy, like brushing and riding the horses, no longer brought him any joy, and he knew it was the same for Jason.
No more happy meals full of laughter and conversation and love.
It was back to grumpy cowboys, just kind of existing and not living.
Dean was mucking out Brinny’s stall when he heard Jason’s footsteps. Even they sounded heavier and sadder than his usual happy gait.
“Hey, Dean, you in here?” Jason called from the hall of the stables.
“Yeah, I’m back here!” He shouted and stepped out of Brinny’s stable to gather some fresh hay to lay down for her.
“How’s it going, man?” Jason asked, petting Brinny’s head and leaning on the wall.
“It’s going fine,” Dean responded sharper than he meant to. It wasn’t Jason’s fault Gwynn was gone. In fact, judging by the slump in his shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes, Jason wasn’t dealing with Gwynn’s departure any better than he was.
“Sounds like it, man,” Jason chuckled, but it sounded hollow to Dean.
Dean threw the pitchfork into the tool closet and slammed the door, irritated by Jason’s questions.
“What do you want me to say? You want me to say I’m miserable? That I miss her? That I wish she had never left?” he fumed, unnecessarily tossing tools and sacks of oats around the storage closet.
“Yes,” came Jason’s calm voice from the door. “Yes, if it’s true, because it’s true for me. I hate sleeping alone. I miss her laugh and her smiles,” Jason mumbled, picking up the tack and leather that Dean had knocked over in his fit of anger.
“I miss her,” Dean whispered and leaned against the worktable, finally looking up at Jason.
“I do too,” Jason responded just as quietly.
“Life here just isn’t the same, and I don’t think it ever will be. She just made everything better, you know?” Jason said, and Dean looked at his friend. Damn, this would never work. They couldn’t be without her. She belonged with them, and now after her absence, it was clear. They would never be happy without her.
“Yeah, but what are we going to do about it? Drive to Houston and beg her to come back?”
Dean asked Jason only half serious, but it was like a light went off behind Jason’s eyes, and he smiled his first real smile in days.
“Yes! Why not do just that?” Jason asked, his voice filled with life.
Dean crossed his arms and looked at Jason. Why not do that? Maybe she missed them as much as they missed her, and if she said no, then at least they would know and would have to move on with their lives.
“When do you think we can leave? Think Jaime and David would stay for a couple days in the bunkhouse and care for the animals? We would pay them, of course,” Dean asked. Jason dealt more with the ranch hands than he did, and he would know if they would stay for a day or two.
“Yeah, sure, of course. Jaime especially since his wife is expecting again. He would appreciate the chance to earn some extra pay,” Jason said, already planning and smiling.
Dean returned his smile, hopeful and happy for the first time since Gwynn answered that phone call at dinner.
He bumped Jason’s shoulder with his and grinned.
“Well, let’s go get our girl. Tell her we love her and convince her to come back home with us.”
Jason returned his smile, and they headed out of the barn and hopefully to their future with Gwynn.
Gwynn
Being back in Houston was surreal for Gwynn. She didn’t feel like herself. She felt lost and unhappy, and it didn’t help that she was staying with her mother—her mother who didn’t understand anything about her life.
“Well, I just don’t understand why you’re back so soon. I thought you would stay out there for four months?”
Disapproval dripped from her mother’s words like rain on a spring day.
“I was going to, mother, but I told you… I finished the book early, and Mike got me a publishing deal. That’s why this lunch with him today is so important.” Gwynn pulled her hair up into a quick bun, and her mother continued to stare daggers at her.
“Well, how long do you think you will stay here? I already told you when you graduated college I would not have my adult child mooching off of me.”
Gwynn sighed. She was trying to get a decent apartment, but it was hard on such short notice.
“I’m seeing three apartments tomorrow, mother. I promise I will be out of your hair as soon as possible,” she said, trying to stay calm while applying some light-colored lip gloss. She didn’t want to let on how much her mother’s words hurt her, but they did hurt.
She felt like an unwanted nuisance, not a loved child.
“Well, you can stay for a week or two, I suppose. You know, if you had some friends, then you would have someone besides your mother to run to when things didn’t work out as planned,” her mother huffed, still staring as Gwynn finished her makeup. She wasn’t sure if her meeting would be just with her stepfather or a few others from publishing, and she wanted to look her best.
“What are you wearing, Gwynndolyn?” Her mother’s voice was shrill.
Gwynn looked down at her dark blue dress—a dress that Jason had said, on more than one occasion, brought out her eyes—and her simple black cardigan and black flats. She felt pretty, it may not have been the fanciest of outfits, but she liked how she looked in it, and she felt confident. She would not allow her mother to bring her down again.
“I’m wearing a pretty blue dress and a black sweater, mother. I happen to like this dress, and I like how I look in it,” Gwynn said, her voice firm in a way it had never been with her mother in the past, and she met her mother’s eyes in the vanity mirror.
“Well, I never…” Her mother began but was at a loss for words, and Gwynn almost smirked. She had never stood up to her mother before. “I suppose the dress is a nice color, but really, Gwynndolyn, if you would just lose thirty or so pounds, you would be so pretty.” The repugnant words said in her mother’s saccharine, sweet southern drawl made Gwynn’s skin crawl.
Had her mother ever loved her? Did she dislike her because she wasn’t as attractive and vapid as she was or had been? If she had been thin and statuesque, would her mother had found other aspects of her lacking? Gwynn shook her head. Navel-gazing about her mother’s love or lack thereof would never get her anywhere. Her mother was who she was, and Gwynn was also who she was, and they would never change.
One thing was different about Gwynn now, though. She’d had the care and respect of two wonderful men. Dean and Jason had thought she was beautiful and smart and funny, and they had enjoyed their time with her, and that helped her feel better about who she was.
She wasn’t perfect and never would be, but she had been wanted and adored.
Gwynn put her gloss in her bag, along with her datebook and computer, and turned around and faced her mother with a smile. For good or ill, this woman gave her life and raised her the best way she knew how, and she couldn’t make her change any more than her mother could change her.
