by A. J. Wynter
He had been to plenty, but none could match the experience he’d had at FKT Heli-skiing. “They all start to feel the same after a while. You?” he asked. The small talk was perfunctory and wasn’t getting any easier. He really wanted to ask where her friend Lauren had gone. They clearly knew each other, and Baxter had spent the afternoon wondering how close they were and if they talked about the development.
“I like FKT,” Charlotte replied. “Have you been to that one?”
The interrogation continued. “Not for a long time,” he said. The small talk was painful. He wished that they could just talk about business. Could it be that she was having a hard time finding common ground outside of real estate as well?
Charlotte looked past Baxter’s shoulder then stood up and waved. Baxter craned his head around to see who was on the receiving end. Logan Brush was easy to spot, but that wasn’t where his eyes were drawn, it was to the woman on his arm – Lauren.
CHARLOTTE STOOD UP as they approached the table. Lauren widened her eyes and gave her sister her best silent ‘what the fuck’ look.
“Hi, baby,” Charlotte said. She gave Logan a hug and then stepped back. She gestured to Baxter, “Logan, this is Baxter Caldwell.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Baxter stood up to shake Logan’s hand.
Charlotte continued, “And I believe you’ve met Lauren Bunkman,”
“Hello, Miss Bunkman.” Baxter reached out his hand. Lauren was thankful for the protection of her gloves and didn’t remove them to shake his hand. She hoped the leather of his would dampen the tremble in her hands but could feel it as they shook. Or, was it his hands that were shaking?
“Hello,” Lauren said.
Charlotte introduced Logan to the rest of the Caldwell executives at the table. After the introductions, each group went back to their own conversations, leaving Lauren, Charlotte, Logan, and Baxter at the end of the table closest to the fire pit.
Lauren pressed her palms together and held her hands underneath the table to try to quell the trembling. While they were there, she balled one up into a fist and banged it against her sister’s leg. Charlotte winced and gave Lauren an almost imperceptible shrug.
“Great throwing today.” Logan looked at Baxter. You almost had all three.”
“There should’ve been a warmup,” Baxter laughed. “I’m just glad there wasn’t anything breakable behind the target.”
Logan was about to reply when a voice interrupted their conversation. “Are you Caldwell?” Lauren recognized the rough-looking man as the mechanic from the gas station. Gary was known to be hot-headed. His nose looked like it had been broken five times because it had been – in bar fights.
Lauren watched as Baxter turned and stood up to meet Gary. “I am,” he said. Baxter stood taller than Gary by at least five inches, but the wobbling local had at least one hundred pounds on him.
Everyone at the table stopped mid-conversation and stared at the showdown.
“Thanks for the beer man,” Gary broke into a huge gap-toothed grin and wrapped one arm around Baxter, squeezing him tightly. “That was a sholid move,” he slurred.
“What’s going on?” Lauren whispered to Charlotte.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “And,” she dropped her voice even lower. “I didn’t invite him to sit here. Serena knows his assistant.”
The band finished off a perfect version of Karma Chameleon and a silence fell over the crowd. Gary still had his arm wrapped around Baxter. “Everyone,” he shouted, taking advantage of the break in the music. “This is Baxter Caldwell. THE Baxter Caldwell who paid for all the beer we’re drinking.” The crowd murmured and then broke into a roaring cheer.
“What?” Lauren hissed. “When did this happen?”
“Beats me,” Charlotte said. “But the man is now a local hero.”
“Great,” Lauren said. “Win over the people by getting them drunk.”
“It’s a pretty smart move,” Charlotte said.
“Maybe I underestimated him,” Lauren said. She watched as people lined up to thank Baxter for the free beer, and he worked the crowd like a celebrity.
“Looks like the bachelor,” Charlotte leaned in and whispered. The line to meet Baxter consisted of mostly women, smiling and giggling, waiting for their chance to meet the infamous, but single and fabulously rich developer.
Lauren turned away from the spectacle. “Ugh,” she muttered but sneaked another look over her shoulder at the giggle parade. Her stomach clenched when she saw Carrie’s mascara caked eyelashes glare at her over Baxter’s shoulder. Jealousy was an emotion Lauren had only previously felt for competitive classmates at law school, today the churning in her gut was over a man.
The band started playing again, and the atmosphere inside the beer garden grew louder and rowdier as the night went on. Lauren tried not to turn around again, but when she stole another glance, Carrie was still lurking around Baxter.
Charlotte leaned in, “Are you going to let that happen?”
Charlotte had a long-standing feud with Carrie’s older sister, Stacy and so did Serena.
“He’s a big boy,” Lauren said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Maybe that’s what he deserves,” she whispered.
“I don’t think that anyone deserves that.” Charlotte’s eyes were following the action over Lauren’s shoulder. “She’s wasted and he’s too polite to tell her to take a hike.”
Carrie was hanging off of Baxter’s shoulder, a cigarette smoldering in her free hand. Lauren could see Baxter leaning away as Carrie scream-whispered in his ear.
“I have to rescue him,” she said. She pivoted on her ass and pulled her boots out from under the picnic table. She strode over and tapped Baxter on his free shoulder. He turned and when their eyes met, he smiled.
“Mr. Caldwell, I have a few business questions for you.” She put on a very serious tone.
“Can’t you see he’s busy,” Carrie said.
“They’re urgent,” Lauren said.
“Well, if that’s the case,” Baxter said, sidestepping and extricating himself from Carrie’s half nelson. “Ladies,” he tipped his hat to his group of bleached blond fans.
“Aw,” one of Carrie’s sidekicks moaned. If Carrie could’ve shot fire from her eyes, Lauren would’ve been charred like Texas barbecue. “I’ll see you later,” Carrie winked and playfully patted Baxter.
“Thank you,” he whispered as Lauren led him back to the picnic table.
“For what?” She smiled.
“Oh, did you actually have some important business questions?” He seemed surprised.
“I do,” Lauren said. “But they can wait for Monday.”
“A-ha, you were rescuing me then?”
Lauren sat down at the table, but instead of taking his former seat across the table, Baxter slid in beside her. Charlotte and Logan had disappeared into the crowd. “Did you need it?” she asked. As he settled in, her knee knocked against his. She inhaled sharply and jerked it away.
“I’ve never experienced anything like that before,” Baxter said. “Those women are aggressive.”
In all of Lauren’s research, there had been very few photos of Baxter with girlfriends. Somehow, she doubted he’d ever been approached by a group of trailer trash townies sporting supermodel confidence.
“There aren’t a lot of single men in town,” Lauren explained. “You’re like a steak that was just tossed to a pack of starving...” she stopped before she finished the sentence.
Baxter’s eyes sparkled, he leaned in close to her. “Rabid dogs.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Lauren took a sip of her beer. As much as she disliked Carrie, she hated falling into the small-town habit of talking behind someone’s back.
“Which part?” Baxter somehow managed to take a sip of his beer through a smile. “The steak or the dogs? If I didn’t know any better, I think that you just paid me a compliment.”
Was he flirting with her?
“I thought that carrion
or vultures was too harsh,” she quipped and couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Too harsh for them...” She nodded to the group of women who were circling just out of earshot.
“Ouch, I’m carrion?” He clutched his chest. “Now, there’s the vicious lawyer I know.”
For someone who had just been called roadkill, Baxter was taking it quite well. “To carrion, and the...” he pursed his lips and looked up, “What do you call the person who picks up roadkill?”
“I don’t know,” Lauren laughed.
“To the road scraper.” He held up his cup in salute. Lauren laughed and shook her head as she reluctantly tapped hers to his.
“I could easily throw you back,” she said.
“You wouldn’t,” he mock gasped. “I barely made it out alive.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” she laughed.
“You’re right, I guess I barely made it out in one piece then.”
“Much better,” Lauren said. She hadn’t met his eyes since they sat down. “Nice move, by the way.” This time she looked directly at him.
“What move?” he said.
Lauren held up her cup of beer. “Buying off the town with beer.”
He took off his hat. “It was a show of goodwill, I don’t think that a few free beers are going to change anyone’s mind about the development.”
And there it was. The reason that they shouldn’t even be sitting together. “You might be surprised.”
“Listen, Lauren. Charlotte and I have a deal. One that I’d like to extend to you.” He paused. “I mean, Miss Bunkman.”
Lauren turned to face Baxter head-on. “A deal?” Her damn sister. Charlotte swore that she was going to stay away from the Caldwell fiasco.
“Easy, tiger,” Baxter held up his hands. “It’s nothing serious. We made a deal that we aren’t going to talk about business today.”
Lauren exhaled. “Sorry about that. I’ve been a bit on edge lately.”
“All the more reason to take a break and make friends with the enemy – for the day.” When he smiled, Lauren’s stomach flip-flopped. He was easily the best-looking man Lauren had ever seen; Baxter Caldwell made Brad Pitt look ordinary.
“Like the soccer match in World War One,” she smiled. She was referring to a soccer match that the two sides played on Christmas day with their fighting on hold. “That’s when the Allied—"
“I know what you’re referring to.” He smiled, “The Christmas truce,” Baxter said. “A bit extreme, but I see where you’re going with that.” He turned so that his body was facing Lauren’s and held out his hand. “Truce?” he said. “A temporary truce,” he added and then held out his hand.
Lauren pulled off her mitten and turned her body toward his. “A temporary truce,” she agreed and slipped her hand into his and the world disappeared around them. His hands were soft, like those of a man who indulged in manicures, but strong like he took those manicured hands and scaled mountains with them.
“How do you know Charlotte?” Baxter asked.
“Pardon?” Lauren leaned in. The band had started up again, and someone had found the volume button.
Baxter shifted so to straddle the bench seat. He leaned in closer to Lauren, and she swore that the temperature surged two degrees from the heat of his body in her personal space. “Charlotte O’Hare,” Baxter pointed to the crowd watching the band. Logan and Charlotte were standing at the back, Logan’s arm draped over Charlotte’s shoulder, hers around his waist, while they swayed to the music. “How do you know her?”
Baxter had leaned in so close that his lips brushed against her earlobe, and a shiver ran up her spine. Lauren squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the flutter of desire spark deep within her abdomen. She pulled away and brushed her hair behind her ear, letting her fingertips linger on the spot were his lips had touched her lobe. “Charlotte is my sister,” she said.
“Sister?” Baxter said. Or rather shouted, over the electric guitar.
Lauren nodded.
“I can see it,” he acknowledged.
“What?”
“The resemblance. But the name?”
“Charlotte changed hers to O’Hare years ago.” Lauren left it at that. She didn’t need to go into all of the sordid details about why Charlotte had completely changed her identity.
Baxter raised his eyebrows but didn’t ask the reason why. Lauren respected his restraint, so she gave him a hint. “To distance herself from her past, from here.” Lauren lifted her cup and gestured to the scene around them.
“I get that,” Baxter said.
“So do I,” Lauren whispered.
The whispering wasn’t necessary, the music was loud enough that almost everyone in the beer garden had given up talking and was either shouting or dancing. The band had just started into the opening notes of ACDC’s Highway to Hell and the crowd had gone wild.
Lauren looked to Baxter, suddenly feeling the urge to confess, to tell him who she was; but shook her head, not here, not now. She had been hiding from her past all these years, maybe it was time to face it. Her past had literally come to life and was sitting in front of her. Facing her.
For the first time in years, the tenseness in Lauren’s body let up a little. Her decision to face her secret released its hold from her body. Her legs relaxed and her knee met Baxter’s, but this time she didn’t recoil. He looked at her and held her gaze as his leg fell heavy against hers. This subtle connection sent a wave of warmth through Lauren’s body. As she sipped her drink, she pressed into him slightly harder, to test and see if the touch was accidental, and her breath hitched as he pressed back. This touch was no accident.
“Baxter!”
A waft of bourbon and smoke cut the air around them as Carrie reached between them, grasping for Baxter’s hand. “Come on,” she yelled, her back pressing Lauren away from Baxter. “Let’s dance.”
“You’ll have to get in line,” Baxter said. He edged away from Carrie, not taking his eyes off Lauren.
“What?” Carrie yelled.
“This young lady asked first.” Baxter rested his hand on Lauren’s arm and the goosebumps that sprang up had nothing to do with the dropping temperatures. Baxter raised his eyebrows at her and mouthed, “Please.”
Lauren hesitated, and Carrie took advantage, laying a proprietary hand on his shoulder. Lauren’s gut clenched, seeing those manicured claws on Baxter’s jacket. “I did ask first,” she smiled and took Baxter’s hand. “This is one of my favorite songs,” she lied.
“Mine too,” Carrie folded her arms across her chest but stepped back to let Lauren and Baxter extricate themselves from the picnic table.
“Next one then.” She heard Carrie shout as they wound their way through the sea of tables to the plywood dance floor in front of the stage.
“Thank you,” Baxter shouted.
Lauren heard, but yelled, “What?” jokingly and pointed to her ear. When Baxter laughed, Lauren saw the glint in his eye again. The bass reverberated in her chest and she felt deliciously alive. “Come on,” she shouted and pulled him by the hand into the sea of dancers. The majority were drunk, and the dancing was more a frenzy of arm flailing and scream-singing along with the band. Baxter raised his fingers into the devil horn symbol above his head and Lauren started singing along. She hadn’t heard the song for years, but somehow the lyrics had found their spot in her memory.
Baxter took a wide step into what Lauren thought was a lunge. When he raised his hands into the telltale air guitar position she yelled, “You wouldn’t.” Baxter grinned and then wind-milled his arm, proceeding to play along with the band, fully committing to his act.
“Nice air guitar,” she shouted.
He stopped, dropped his imaginary instrument violently, and put his hands on his hips. “It’s an air bass, Lauren.” He managed to say it with a straight face for at least two seconds before they both broke out into a fit of laughter.
&n
bsp; “You’d better pick up your bass before someone steps on it.” Lauren rested one hand on his arm and pointed to the snow-covered dance floor.
“You’re right.” He bent down and when he stood up, he thrust his arms at Lauren. “Your turn.”
There was no way Lauren was going to air guitar or air bass. “I’m more of an air sax player,” she cocked her head and grinned at him, thankful that as far as she knew, ACDC didn’t have a saxophone player.
He smiled at her and as the final notes of the raucous song rang out, he said, “Fair enough. But I expect to see your sax in action at some point tonight.”
Lauren’s cheeks rushed red. Was that an innuendo? The crowd screamed and Lauren and Baxter joined in with the clapping and shouting. She leaned back into Baxter, “You, sir, are a fine air bass player.”
“The finest,” he whispered back. They had been jostled close together by the crowd of dancers, and even though their bodies weren’t touching, she could feel the light brush of his jacket against hers as he breathed behind her.
“We’re going to slow things down a bit now,” the lead singer said into the microphone.
Oh shit. Lauren thought to herself. The drummer counted in slowly and they started playing an old country song. She turned and brushed past Baxter, her eyes set on the back of the beer garden and the safety of the picnic table.
“Lauren,” Baxter’s hand was on her arm. “Dance with me?”
“We shouldn’t...” she said. But she wanted to snuggle up against his wool coat, to feel his arms around her, for him to hold her the way he did when they danced in his room all those years ago.
“Of course,” Baxter said. “I understand.” He gestured for Lauren to leave the dance floor ahead of him, Always the gentleman, Lauren thought to herself. She glanced through the crowd and her eyes settled on Carrie’s. Lauren turned on her heel and slammed into Baxter’s chest. She grabbed onto his glove, “Just one,” she whispered into his ear.
He nodded and took her hand in his, leading her to the center of the dance floor. The atmosphere had completely changed. Older men in cowboy hats swayed with their wives as the lead singer’s honey tenor twanged. The rough crew had adjourned to their tables, leaving the rest of the dancers space to move. As Baxter turned and pulled Lauren in towards him, she felt the warmth of his hand as it rested on her back and he took her right hand in his left, waltz style, like the old cowboys.
