Almost Had You

by Rachel Robinson

  “Calm down, Clover.” He puts his hand on my neck, and another on my arm. I think it’s an intimate gesture, I won’t do anything to stop. Not now, but his fingers are moving slowly, with a precision. “That feels okay. Are you sure your neck doesn’t hurt? Did you hit your head?” His hands slide up my neck to my head, thumbs pressed behind my ears.

  “I’m telling you my whole life is a lie and you’re givin’ me an exam?”

  He smirks. “Back at Dizzy Rocket, you were saying you weren’t the same woman. I think what you meant was you’re a shake away from the looney bin. Clover, take a deep breath.”

  “I’m not looney. I’m just a liar! You know my cousin, Goldie?” My tone is a near screech.

  Mercer nods his head as he moves his hand and manipulates my wrist, asking if I feel any pain. “She owns that super chic salon in Cape Cod? You knew that, right?” At the mention of Cape Cod, his attention piques. “It doesn’t hurt,” I add.

  “Yeah, I know which one you mean. I’d forgotten Goldie owns that place, I guess.”

  “She offered me a booth there when I’m ready. That’s the sign I’ve been waiting for, Mercer. I finally have my license and I’ve had enough practice. I’m ready to move to Cape Cod and do hair at Goldie’s.”

  “Wow. Okay,” he replies, dropping his hands to rest by his sides. “You wouldn’t want to do hair here? With your parents? Your friends? Cape Cod is a long way from Greenton.”

  I shake my head furiously. “Of course not. I’ve been planning this whole different life waiting for the right time to get out of here. Winnie has taken over much of the shelter and management duties. I’ll still foot that bill, because let’s be honest, I’ll never need for money, but I need for a life of my own.” Winnie is my right-hand woman. She runs the day to day happenings, and I’ve groomed her to take over completely. I pay her a good salary and she makes sure the legacy I began keeps the same values I founded it on. I hold up one finger in front of Mercer. “Pause that thought, I need to talk to Bentley.” I hear Bent chatting up his friend on the phone.

  Barefoot and covered in mud, I march toward him. “Ms. Wellsley, you look like a muddy Carrie. Are you here to kill me? I’m sorry for every time I called you a bitch. Don’t take vengeance on me. Please.”

  I sigh, holding out my hand. “Give me your cell.” He complies immediately. “Where are you guys heading now?” I ask Bentley before addressing the person on the phone.

  “Jimmy’s hunting camp off route three twenty-six,” he says, voice shaky. “To drink and do man shit.”

  To the person on the other end of the line, I ask, “You have a tow truck?”

  The man replies in the affirmative. I describe where my car is and tell him to tow it to Jimmy’s hunting camp instead of to a body shop. I’m going to take care of this all by myself. My parents won’t even know a thing.

  Mercer is standing behind me; I feel his body heat—his presence. I turn to face him, and he’s bare-chested, holding out his plaid shirt. “You’re not getting into the cab of Bent’s truck covered in mud. My shirt will be long enough to cover everything.” He gestures to my body with his free hand.

  “But now you’re not covered,” I shriek.

  He shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure if you were okay, but listening to you boss those boys around I see you’re in perfect Clover form. Take the shirt. My abs are the least of your worries, darlin’. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.” His abs are the most of my confounded worries!

  I snatch the shirt, with a huff, and go to the passenger side of Bentley’s truck to unzip my dress. It weighs five pounds more now that’s it’s soaked and caked with mud. It’s completely destroyed and there’s no way I can drop it off at the dry cleaners like this. Such a shame, I think. What’s not a shame is having Mercer’s scent wrapping around my body. It’s almost as if he’s marking me as his, and I can’t deny I like the way it feels.

  I’m still shaken, but I have to take care of business. I walk back to my car, grab my purse on the floorboard, the bottle of wine that blessedly survived, and try to pop the trunk. It doesn’t open.

  “We need to get out of here before someone drives by and sees your car. Or you, wearing my shirt.” Mercer sets his hand on my shoulder.

  “Daddy says you’re basically a superhero. Get this trunk open, please. I need the black bag and wheeled suitcase.”

  The headlights on Bentley’s truck are blazing our way, so I can see his grin. “A superhero, huh? A shirtless one? That mean yes for a date?”

  “Depends if you get my belongings out or not, I guess.”

  “Consider yourself taken then, ma’am.”

  My stomach flips. I don’t correct him. Mercer, with his big hands and bulging biceps, muscles the trunk open enough to slide my things out. He hands the bag to me. “Dead body in there?” he jokes while continuing to hold my cart.

  “Nope. Just the head,” I reply, sliding the handles on my shoulder. “Can you close it now?”

  “Awful demanding, aren’t you?”

  I shake my head. He closes it the same way he opened it, with brute strength. Mercer looks at me, chest heaving with exertion after it’s sealed shut. Abs accentuated by the way the light is hitting him “I just wanted to watch you do it,” I admit.

  Mercer bites his lip and then says, “Just a superhero doing his job. You ready to go? The tow truck is almost here. Not sure what your plan is for when it gets to the hunting camp, but I can’t wait to find out.”

  I nod, and without looking back at the steaming pile that is my car. To Bentley, I say, “To the huntin’ camp to do man stuff!”

  Mercer opens the door for me and puts my muddy dress and cart in the back of the truck while I slide in. My heart skips a beat when he climbs in after me. “Are you sure she didn’t hit her head? The mayor is going to put a hit out on us if something happens to her. Shouldn’t we take her to Greenton General just to make sure her noggin is on the up and up?”

  “And risk being front-page news tomorrow?” I hiss. “I’m handling this, Bent. Just get us out of here.”

  Mercer and his beautiful bare chest is almost more of a distraction than I can take. It controls my thoughts. “You heard the muddy lady,” Mercer says, setting a hand on my bare thigh. Every skin cell on my body prickles in response. “To the hunting camp.” Mercer throws a fist out the open window, a carefree, wild sense to his whole being. I want that. I need it.

  “This is the first night of the rest of my life,” I say, clutching his hand. “I’m ready. I’m ready.” After this, I won’t have a choice. This sign just sent my whole world into a tailspin. Literally and figuratively.

  Bentley pulls onto the road and heads toward the camp. The wind whips through the cabin. As we barrel down the road, I think about the second I saw Mercer Ballentine at the airport. I knew right then things would never be the same. I’m not sure how, but I don’t care. He’s my sign.

  Chapter Four

  ___________________________________

  Clover

  “ANOTHER SHOT!” I yell out, slamming the tiny glass down on the peeling Formica countertop. The shot glass has a sombrero on one side, and the words South of the Border on the other. The B has been worn to a P and I find it hilarious. “South of the Porder,” I shout, raising it in the air, laughing until my stomach aches. The hunting camp isn’t unlike any other hunting camp. It smells a little weird, but after the third shot, I stopped smelling it, and pretty much everything else that has a scent. I never act out like this. Letting loose isn’t something I’m well versed in and it must show from the glares sliding my way.

  “We’re cutting you off, sugar,” Bentley drawls, winking. “If you throw up in here, Jimmy will have my head on a stake.” Mercer and Bentley take another shot of tequila without me. I shrug off the slight and dance my way into the living room a few steps away. The walls are covered with buck antlers and dead animal busts. The nineties style stereo is pulsing music throughout the two-bedroom cabin, vibrating the taxi
dermy.

  There’s a raccoon in the corner staring at me with beady, unblinking eyes. I use the remote to change it to a new song and lower the volume. “That’s a fine piece of taxidermy,” I call out, hearing the slur in my voice. “It looks like it wants to tear out my eyeballs. Maybe if I compliment it, I’ll gain some favor.” I back up a step because it’s creeping me out. “And then it will stop staring at me, too.”

  I take another step away, and I’m halted by Mercer’s bare chest. “It’s staring at you because it can’t help it.” His hands fall on my waist, on top of his shirt that I’m still wearing. I showered and put it back on after. Jimmy’s closet only had jackets that smelled like musky animals and dirt. Mercer leans over and buries his face in my neck. I gave up trying to keep my desires at bay when I finished the bottle of white wine on my own. “You’re so beautiful.” Mercer sways with me to the music, his shoulders forcing me to follow his lead—his warm body commanding my full attention.

  Laughing, I lean my head back on his chest, tilting my head up. “Beautiful, huh? I’d almost believe it if it didn’t smell like tequila.”

  He spins me, keeping me tight against his body. Meeting his gaze, I hold my breath. He makes me feel things I’ve never experienced before. I can tear down the walls and show him the real me. I’m not scared or apprehensive, either. “Tequila doesn’t have anything to do with my compliment,” Mercer drawls, tilting his head as his eyes trail down my chest, to the open buttons, where my cleavage is exposed, still warm from my shower.

  “Tell me I’m beautiful tomorrow,” I say. “If you remember.”

  He takes my face in his hands, a firm grip that tells me his intentions are thinly controlled. I want to push him to the brink; I want him to give me more. “How could I forget when I’ve had the knowledge of your beauty my entire life?”

  I pull away and his hands drop. I can’t help where my eyes wander. Down his chest, his rippling arms, to the jeans slung low on his hips. My mouth goes dry. “South of the Porder?” I ask, saying anything to distract myself from what he’s making me feel. Is it because I’ve never been this intimate with a man who is nearly naked? No. That’s not it. I’ve drunk too much? Nope. Haven’t had enough. With a purpose only a woman has, I march back into the kitchen and pour myself another full shot into my little sombrero glass and down it. The fire screams down my throat and I can feel the flush rise to my face and neck.

  Bentley looks like he’s going to say something, but I wave my glass at him. “Don’t say it, Bent. Mercer is over there complimenting me and I’m not nearly drunk enough to stay away from him,” I hiss out. “This is so strong.” Shaking my head, I playback my previous sentence and realize how backward it came out.

  “Don’t you mean you’re not drunk enough to be with me?” Mercer says, voice cutting through the music, testosterone-fueled presence entering my bloodstream.

  I spin, confused. I hear the hurt laced in his tone. “No. Why would you think that?”

  He casts his eyes down. “No reason. I’m heading outside to grab some fresh air. It’s a little stale in here.”

  Bentley makes an annoyed noise. “Oh, come on! The camp’s been shuttered up for months don’t be a little bitch. It doesn’t stink, you’re just trying to escape because she’s ruining man time!” He follows Mercer outside, talking so fast not even I can hear the words behind this thick Southern accent. I pour another shot when the screen door slams. I take it over to the raccoon and sit down on a busted sofa covered in dark brown flowers. It matches the valance hanging across the window in the kitchen. I take the shot and the room spins. Perfect. “He’s right,” I tell the raccoon. “I don’t know how to interact with a man like Mercer Ballentine.” I only know how to handle men who I’m not attracted to. It’s more of a business deal with those interactions. They want me for reasons other than my heart, and I’m supposed to want them for the same. My parents didn’t prepare me to desire, to fall in love, or any of the romantic things. They groomed me to broker fair trade marriage deals. There isn’t much that perturbs me, but the fact I don’t know how to do this specifically, is eating me alive.

  The music lulls between songs and I hang my head between my knees, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I wanted to be a different person and I’m over here offending the only person who wants to help me get what I want.”

  I stand up and trip over an area rug corner. “Shut up, raccoon. I’m going to apologize now. What do you think I am? A complete barbarian? I’m a farm trucking lady!” I look down at my hands and see my mangled manicure. “Maybe I am uncivilized. I take that back.” I shrug and sigh.

  The screen door slams behind me as I wander onto the front porch. Bent and Mercer are leaning against the back of his truck, talking in low voices. “Listen. I came to apologize,” I call out, cupping my mouth. “I’m sorry for being a bitty varmint, Mercer! My sincerest apologies.”

  “It’s two in the morning. Clover, don’t yell. We have neighbors over there,” Bentley hisses in my direction. “Were you born in a barn?”

  “Mother trucker,” I say. “I need to find my cell phone. My parents are probably having a right fit.”

  I fly back into the log cabin, into one of the bedrooms and fish my cell phone from the bottom of my handbag. There’s a text from Tannie:

  Don’t worry about your parents. I covered for you when your mama called. Told her you were staying with me tonight while we planned. I said your phone died. You owe me…all the details tomorrow.

  “Mother trucker,” I whisper once more, losing all ability to hold my foul language at bay.

  Mercer comes up behind me. “Everything okay? Need a ride back home? Jimmy’s neighbor is on the other side of the pond. He might be sober. No promises though. It’s two.”

  “Stop trying to fix things for me. I don’t deserve it.” I’m not sure what I deserve, but I have a feeling, a good man like Mercer isn’t something life owes me.

  He laughs. “I’m not fixing things for you. Just being a decent guy. I’d do it for anyone.” He sighs out. “Because I wasn’t born in a barn,” he adds.

  I throw my phone back into the abyss that is my bag. “Tannie thinks we’re…on a date tonight. She covered for me. She saw us leave DR together. My mama called her when I didn’t come home. I have a huge mess to clean up tomorrow.” Before I got really drunk, I dealt with my car. A body shop from two towns over is picking it up in the morning and fixing it. They’ll deliver it back here when it’s done. I’ll tell Daddy I’m finally getting the windows tinted and I’ll rent a car tomorrow. It’s the best plan I could come up with on the fly.

  “I hope you told her the truth. That you wouldn’t date me if your life depended on it.”

  “We went on a date tonight already. We grabbed a drink at the Dizzy Rocket. Everyone saw it, remember?” I lay a hand on my forehead, adding that to the mental list of damage control. What must everyone be saying about me today?

  “That’s not the kind of date I’m talkin’ about.” Mercer looks out the window over my head.

  Because I’m drunker than a skunk, I have no problem losing my good sense. “Sex? Is that what this is about? You’re barking up the wrong tree.” Standing, I slap his shoulder, but it’s a mistake because his skin is hot and now my palm is warm, and it makes me want to touch more of his skin to see if the temperature matches.

  “Tell me then,” Mercer says, running a hand through his hair, making his abs flex. “If I were a respectable businessman with a job in the city, wore a suit, carried a computer, had a significant last name, would you date me tonight?”

  I rub my eyes. I see two faces in front of me. “You are so far off it’s funny. I’m not a ‘for a good time, call this number’ type of woman.” He looks confused, so I continue, just to watch his face, both of them. “I’m a virgin, Mercer.”

  His eyes widen and his jaw drops open. He stutters once and then starts listing off men I’ve dated in the past. I shake my head after each one. After he concludes his list
, he says, “How? How is that humanly possible?”

  I swallow hard. “Because I’m sure none of them looked like you without a shirt on.”

  He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it, perching his hands on his hips. He shakes a finger at me. “You’re drunk. Let’s get you to bed, ma’am.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s why I don’t tell anyone. People treat me differently.” I shake my head. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me.”

  He coughs. “I’m not. But you also are very drunk.”

  “If I said I wanted to have sex with you right now, you’d be cool with it? I’m sure if I was Billy-Jo Babcock, you’d be on top of me before I finished this sentence.” He steps away, not saying a word—blue eyes flashing a warning. “Thought so,” I say.

  “For the record, I don’t only want sex from you,” Mercer says, gaze locked with mine.

  I reach up and grab his shirt on my body. My drunk fingers fumble with the buttons. “That’s a lie. Lucky for you, I don’t care because tonight is the first night of my new life and this is how I want to start it.” With a bang.

  I’ve startled him. He glances over his shoulder to the open bedroom door, and back to my body. I don’t have my bra on anymore, but the shirt isn’t opened all the way, so I’m not on full display. Yet. “You don’t want to lose your virginity when you won’t even remember it in the morning. Regardless of what type of woman you’re hoping to be in your new life.” He air quotes the last word. “I’m not that type of man. I wish I was because you’re standing there wearing my shirt, looking like every bit my favorite recipe, but I can’t. Not tonight.”

  “Shut the door, Mercer,” I order. “If you want to take me to dinner tomorrow night, and every night after that, until you leave again, shut the door.” I swallow hard, slip his shirt off my shoulders and toss it on the bed behind us without taking my eyes off his. “And lock it.” My skin prickles as he takes me in—a feral look transforming his features.