“I already have company,” I say. I probably sound like a shrew, but we got a little too close by the fire and I’m feeling the effects of it now.
“What’s his name?” he asks, nodding toward my horse.
I smile a completely unbidden smile. “Her name’s Tequila,” I say, scratching my horse affectionately.
Pete steps closer, and Tequila swishes her tail in his face. He brushes it away, spitting as he wipes his mouth. I laugh.
“You haven’t been around horses much, have you?” I ask.
“Can’t say I’ve ever been in a room with one before,” he says, picking at his tongue with his thumb and index finger. He spits again and finally looks satisfied after wiping his mouth with his forearm.
“I got another of your firsts,” I say. I immediately realize my mistake and try to take it back. “I mean—”
But he holds up a hand and grins. “Hey, if I had all my firsts to give you, I would.” His eyes meet mine, and a spark jumps between us.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’d have liked to have had the choice of who to give mine to. But I didn’t. And that’s over, I remind myself.
“You okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
I nod. “Fine.”
I step out from behind Tequila. I still have Maggie between us, and Maggie would never let anything hurt me. Tequila’s low on water, so I grab the hose and fill her up. Pete jumps when I accidentally spray his shoes.
“Sorry,” I say. I really didn’t mean to do that. I bite my lower lip and avoid his gaze.
“A little water never hurt anyone,” he says with a shrug. I think I hear him mutter something that sounds like “I could use a little cooling off,” but that might just be wishful thinking. He grins at me. He’s so damn cute. His eyes are bright blue, I know, but in the low light of the barn, they look almost sapphire. They’re rimmed by dark lashes that are so thick they’re feminine, but there’s nothing girly about him. He’s all man, from the width of his shoulders to the quirk of his grin. He’s about a head taller than I am, but for some reason, I don’t feel intimidated by his size. That’s probably because he hasn’t touched me.
“You should take a picture, princess,” he says with a grin. “It’ll last longer.”
Heat floods my face, and I look away.
“Hey,” he says softly. “I was just kidding.” He steps toward me, his eyebrows drawing together.
I take a deep breath and force my insides to settle. I feel like there’s a Ping-Pong ball in my belly that keeps dropping toward my toes. Humor usually works in these situations, so I try that. “I can’t help it if you’re made to stare at.” I grin.
This time, it’s his face that floods with heat if the color on his cheeks is any indication. “You think I’m pretty,” he says, smiling. He’s all swagger all of a sudden.
“Pretty is not a word I would use to describe you,” I say, laughing.
He leans casually against the stall door again. “Then what would you use?”
“Full of it,” I toss out.
He laughs.
I take another deep breath. “Why are you here?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I thought you might want some company.” His gaze searches mine, and it’s so intense that I have to break away.
“I figured you’d be too worried about your nuts to come around me again,” I tease. Laughter seems to be the best way to get around this man’s poignant pauses.
“You let me worry about my nuts.” He laughs and looks down. “Well, you can worry about them, too, but I take full responsibility for their safety.”
I laugh. He’s really pretty funny. “We can both worry about your nuts,” I say with a smile. I chance a glance at him, and he’s looking closely at me. Too closely. Laughter. I need to say something funny. But nothing comes to me. I bite my tongue because I don’t want to say the wrong thing.
“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks. He looks surprised by his own question, and I assume he wants to take it back. But he doesn’t. He just looks at me expectantly.
“Define out?” I say.
He grins. “You and me on a date.”
He doesn’t have a car, and he just got out of prison. A date might be kind of difficult. But I can’t say that. I’ll hurt his feelings. “What kind of date?” I ask instead.
“The kind where you and I spend some time together,” he says with a shrug.
“We’re doing that now,” I inform him.
“Well, damn,” he sings. “You’re right.” He looks around at the horses. “Next time, remind me to take you someplace nicer.”
I laugh. He smiles at me.
“That’s a beautiful sound,” he says quietly.
I look at Tequila and pat her behind. “Did you pass gas, girl?” I ask. I grin at him. “Sorry, but she can be kind of noisy.”
He smiles and rubs his chin. I bet it’s scratchy under his fingertips, and if I were another person, I would want to touch it to find out. “And she’s funny, too,” he says under his breath.
I smile and motion toward the door. “We had better get out of here before my dad comes after you,” I say. But I’m not worried about my dad. I’m worried about me. Because I like this man. A lot.
“Can I walk with you back to the house?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. He’s so damn cute. And he makes my insides quiver. I’m not sure the latter is a good thing.
I nod, and he steps up beside me and then opens the barn door for me. He holds the door open and lets me and Maggie through. His shoulder bumps mine, and I step away from him. He leans his head down close to me. “Do I smell bad?” he asks.
I lean closer to him and inhale. “Not that I can tell,” I reply quietly. He smells like citrus and outdoors, just like I remember from that night. And I want to bury my face in his chest and drink him in. But I can’t.
“Just checking,” he says with a laugh. “Every time I get close to you, you move away,” he says casually. But there’s nothing casual about the comment. Nothing at all.
I point to my chest. “I’ve been working all day…and messing with the horses. I was worried that I was the one who smelled bad.”
He looks into my face, and I can’t draw my eyes away. “You smell like lemons and raindrops.” He closes his eyes and inhales. “And all things innocent.”
I freeze. “That is where you would be completely wrong,” I say.
“You’re guilty?” he asks. “Of what?” His blue eyes narrow.
“Of trusting the wrong person,” I say quietly.
“I don’t want you to trust me,” he says. “I want you to be very, very wary of me. And every other man you meet.”
I inhale deeply through my nose. “No problem there,” I finally say. Most men fight with me to get me to trust them.
“I don’t even trust myself most days,” he says. I think he’s playing at first, but he’s dead serious.
“Why not?” I whisper.
“I’m not trustworthy,” he says quietly.
I pull a lock of hair from where it’s stuck to my mouth and lick my lips. He watches me closely. “I promise not to trust you,” I whisper.
“Good,” he whispers back, very dramatically.
We arrive at my door, and I turn to face him. “Thanks for walking me back,” I say. I lay a hand on my chest. “It was such a long way,” I say, trying to sound like Scarlett O’Hara. “I never would have made it by myself.”
He grins. “My job here is done.”
“Good night,” I say.
He closes one eye and looks at me with the other for a moment. “Can I kiss you yet?” he asks.
I shake my head, and my insides do that quivery little dance again. “No,” I whisper. “I’m afraid not.”
He whispers again, “Can I keep asking?” He grins.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I admit. He smiles. This time, it’s not playful. I think it’s all Pete. It’s all swagger and confidence.
He turns to walk away, calling, “Good night, princess,” over his shoulder.
“’Night,” I toss back. I look up and see my dad glaring at me through the kitchen window. “Dad,” I gripe, as he opens the back door for me.
“Was that Pete?” he asks. Maggie goes to lie at his feet.
I nod. “That was Pete.”
He gnaws on his fingernail. “Should I be worried?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” he breathes, and he deflates like a relaxed balloon. He leans forward, pulling my head toward his with his beefy arm. “Good night,” he says, kissing my temple.
“Good night, Dad,” I say. He turns and goes upstairs. I look out the kitchen window at the first man I have ever truly wanted to kiss. But I can’t. I just can’t. I know this is going to end badly.
Reagan
Sometimes I wake up with the weight of my memories draped over me like a heavy, wet, woolen blanket. One that weighs me down and makes it impossible to get out of bed. But today, I blink my eyes open and there’s no sticky blood on my fingertips and my lashes aren’t matted together from waking up with screams trapped in my throat.
Today, I wake up…hopeful. I don’t even know if that’s the right word for it. It kind of feels like Christmas morning. The one you experience even after you know Santa’s not real, but you anticipate the warm and fuzzy feelings that come with the holiday. You rip open your presents and watch your parents exchange gifts that mean something to them. That’s how I’m feeling today. And I’m not completely sure I like it.
The girls were here for camp last month, and I didn’t feel this giddy because of them being here, so I don’t think it’s the camp that made me want to rush outside today. It’s Pete. And I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to like him as much as I do.
In a perfect world, I could date him. But my world’s not perfect. And it hasn’t been for quite some time.
I get dressed and pull my hair into a ponytail. We’re going to be working with the horses today before it gets too hot. The boys love to take short rides around the paddock. Some of these kids have never been on a horse before.
I walk outside, and I can smell the aroma of bacon on the griddle. My dad tried hiring a catering service, but he really likes cooking for the kids, and it seems to work better when he throws some bacon on a skillet, scrambles eggs, and offers fruit, yogurt, milk, and cereal to everyone. There’s something for every kid, even with some of the boys’ bizarre dietary restrictions.
The men from the prison are acting as waiters right now, and they’re doing a good job at it. Pete’s working in the middle of two tables. He’s signing to some kids and joking with others. He’s really good with the adolescents. Gonzo says something to him, and I see Pete hold up his hand to block everyone else from seeing it as he shoots Gonzo the middle finger. Gonzo laughs, and I force myself to close my jaw.