Between Hope & the Highway (3 page)

Before the accident, I was the cool kid at school…well, at least as cool as one could be in second grade. I had friends and always received invites to birthday parties. Girls wrote me love letters and chased me around the playground. But after being held back a year for surgeries and intensive physical therapy, my friends were a grade older when I returned, and my new classmates found me odd. I started hearing whispered taunts in line: “Bentley’s bent.”
Bent-head
became my new nickname when the teacher turned her back—that and
Spaz-Legs, Bent-Me,
and
Pretzel Boy
. The accident taught me that people do judge you by your appearance. That’s why I wanted Addie to look normal.

After forming a dozen bricks, I returned to the house and wrangled my way upstairs to change for supper. Mom hadn’t been too keen on me moving to the upper bedroom, but I’d begged her to allow me the challenge. Even Dr. Bowler felt it’d be good for me. My leg muscles hurt like the dickens going up and down the steps, but pain was my friend when it came to healing. Or so he said.

After changing out of my muddy clothes, I hobbled to the window to stare at the sunset. I thought once more about all I’d miss out on this summer because Rawson was avoiding us. No horse rides. No skinny dipping in the water hole. Nobody to watch
Star Wars
with at night. What was my brother’s problem? I mean, he didn’t come home for Christmas because he took some chick to Maui. And now he was flying to Europe?

A shadow outside snagged my attention. Searching the circular driveway, my jaw dropped as I spotted a girl crossing to the garage.

“Hubba bubba,” I mumbled. She must be the new hand Dad had told the foreman would arrive this week. I’d overheard him tell Abe to put her in the room above the detached garage and to have her take meals with the other hands in the bunkhouse. Made me wish I was a hired hand so I could eat with her. Milt could serve me his slop and I’d probably even like it if I could stare at her across the table.

Susa’s scratchy voice belted through the intercom. “Dinner’s in five minutes.” She pronounced it
deener
….like wiener.

I buckled my belt and stared at the mirror. Ignoring needling-pain, I straightened my neck and started counting. Thoughts of the new girl motivated me to endure the agonizing position. I wanted to look normal if I ran into her. Raising my eyebrows, I tried to waggle them like Rawson. Girls loved my older brother. I had darker hair than he did and plain blue eyes rather than his greenish-blue ones, but some people said we looked alike. Maybe they were just being nice.

When I reached sixty-seven, my face turned red and I stopped making sexy faces. At eighty, I began to shake and sped through the numbers until I succumbed to exhaustion at one hundred and allowed my neck to droop onto my shoulder.

Yes! Ten seconds longer than last time. If I ever met that long-legged beauty, I’d make sure to talk for less than a minute standing still so she wouldn’t notice my flaws.

“Benny,” Susa asked through the intercom, “are you coming?”

“Be down in a minute.” I pronounced it
meen-it
to tease her.

Picturing the new girl smiling when she met me lifted my mood as I headed downstairs. Imagination was so much cooler than reality.

Chapter 3

Rawson

Ice clinking and metal wheels scraping against the airplane aisle grated against my nerves. Cursing myself for not checking my itinerary before I left, I leaned back and closed my eyes. What kind of cheap modeling company had I contracted with that couldn’t even fly me first class to Paris? I definitely would be having words with someone when I reached my destination. No way would I tolerate sub-par accommodations all summer.

Throwing my head back, I stared at the ugly knobs on the ceiling. Even though I’d just graduated from Stanford with honors and was heading to Europe, I didn’t feel an ounce of enthusiasm. Truthfully, I’d jumped on this modeling gig to avoid going home. But sitting in coach—in a middle seat no less—had me regretting my rash decision. I missed the quiet nights on the ranch where millions of stars lit up the sky, where the chirping of crickets and the occasional bellow of cows were the only sounds to be heard. I longed to gallop over the hills on my faithful stallion. I even missed the intense physical labor that made me feel like a man. But I didn’t miss the memories that pummeled me, and I certainly hadn’t missed Dad. Why had he even bothered to attend my commencement exercises?

I pulled an airline blanket up to my shoulders and stewed over our last exchange outside my apartment this morning. Guilt gnawed at me as I recalled Mom’s pained expression while she stood by the rental car and listened to us shout at each other. But no way would I let Dad run my life. I wasn’t one of his cows or horses he could yank around by a rope.

The blanket’s scratchy texture became hard to ignore. Shoving the material off, I adjusted the knob above my head as an airline attendant stepped up to my row.

“What can I get for you?” she asked.

I craned my neck to read her name tag. “I’d love a seat in first class, Alexa. You could even join me.” I doubted she could help, but over the years I’d learned that flirting harvested surprising rewards.

“Tempting,” she giggled.

“I’d even settle for an aisle seat.”

“I wish I could switch you, but we have a full flight.” Her lips pursed. “What beverage can I get you? You look like you could use something strong.”

She had no idea. “I’ll have a Coke,” I replied, knowing they didn’t have Pepsi.

With a suggestive wink, she opened a can and poured soda into a plastic cup. Once more, I berated myself for not checking my ticket. If I sat beyond the almighty curtain a few rows ahead, I’d be drinking from a glass.

As she handed me my beverage, our fingers touched. “Thanks, darling. Do you think you could round up headphones for me?”

“Of course,” she gushed. “I’ll be back after I finish serving drinks.”

I smirked as she moved up the aisle. Women were so easy.

Slumping against my seat, I tried to get comfortable. Coach seats hadn’t been formed with my 6’3” frame in mind. My legs ached and arms still itched from the blanket. I needed a shower and a change of clothes. But the plane was somewhere over the Atlantic with hours between me and my destination.

When the beverage ladies had done their duty to feed us circus elephants in coach, my attendant returned. “Here are the headphones you asked for, Mr…?”

“Call me Rawson.”

She acted as though I’d gifted her with a diamond ring. Fake eyelashes fluttered and her voice turned breathy. “Okay, Rawson.” She licked her lips. “Since I can’t switch you to first class, consider these a gift.”

I hadn’t expected to pay. Women always gave me what I wanted if I showed them a little attention. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Her light brown eyes told me she wanted more—maybe an invitation to meet after our flight or my number, at least—but that wasn’t in the cards. I still nursed a broken heart, and she’d have to be a whole lot hotter to get me to jump into the game again.

“Let me know if you need anything else, Rawson.” Hope laced her words…hope that’d come crashing down when I walked off the plane and out of her life forever.

Plugging her gift into my iPhone, I placed the headphones on my head and gave her a parting wave. I turned on some Randy Travis and leaned back to zone out, but Randy and my head betrayed me when
Storms of Life
came on, reminding me of Damon Hollis. I squirmed in my seat. It’d been months since I thought of my friend, and now, because of a stupid song we’d probably played pool to in a bar ages ago, he took center stage in my mind and refused to leave.

Damon and I had been best buds since junior high. He acted the part of a cocky kid who wasn’t scared of anything, but I knew better. His drunk old man terrified him. The accident added insult to injury. When I awoke in a hospital to my parents crying, I learned that Detrick, my twelve-year-old brother, had been thrown from the Explorer and killed instantly; Benny, my youngest brother, struggled for his life in intensive care; and Damon, my right hand man, had been carted off to the juvenile detention center in Billings for negligent homicide. I’d never cried before, but every muscle in my body ached as I recalled what happened and bawled like a baby.

The itching sensation in my arms and chest gained tempo, making me want to scrape off my skin. Cursing my OCD sensitivities, I yanked off my headphones and snatched my backpack from under the seat. Maneuvering down the aisle, I stood behind a woman to wait for a chance to use the casket in the sky. When she exited, I crammed my body into the restroom and dug inside my pack for a new shirt. My fingers shook as I ripped off my offending garment and stuffed it inside another pocket. Turning on the faucet, I patted my chest and arms to relieve the compulsion to peel off my dermal layer. Avoiding the sandpaper towels on the wall, I opted instead to hand-fan my body dry before donning a white, silky shirt. Hopefully, it wouldn’t itch. I only had one more wardrobe change in my carry-on, and planned to use that when I exited the plane.

As I stepped out of the restroom, I caught several dirty looks from people in a much longer line. I also heard a
pretty boy
comment that made me want to deck someone. But fighting on a plane was tantamount to messing with a bull when one of his cows was in heat—more trouble than it was worth.

Wedging into my cramped space, I experienced seat-envy as I noticed the elderly lady on my other side snoring. I’d pay good money to copy her. Instead, I fidgeted and occasionally grimaced as the man across the aisle sneezed. That’s all I needed was to catch an airborne virus on this flight. I returned the headphones to my ears, knowing memories would return with the music, but at least I wouldn’t hear Mr. Infectious Disease sniffling and coughing.

I closed my eyes, wishing I could help my friend. Damon’s life had spiraled out of control since the accident. But with my inheritance off-limits until I proved myself, my hands were tied. Dad refused to help Damon in even the smallest way. He’d never forgiven him for the accident that took Detrick’s life and ruined Bentley.

A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked up into the light brown eyes of the desperate attendant.

“You need to fasten your seatbelt, Rawson. We’ll be landing soon.” She squeezed me.

I tugged at my collar as the brunette gave me a
come-hither
look and dropped a business card onto my lap. She’d probably be a lot of fun tonight, but I shoved her number into my pocket. I wouldn’t be calling her. I wouldn’t be calling anyone. All I wanted was to strip off my clothes and take a long, hot shower to cleanse me of the itching sensation and germs I’d picked up on this torturous journey. Besides, after having my soul sapped dry by my bloodsucking ex, I didn’t have energy to entertain.

Chapter 4

Liz

As the tidy buildings of the Bar-M-Law Ranch appeared over the rise, I slowed my mare and inhaled the fragrant spring air. If any place could be heaven on earth, this was it. The smell of barn and beast laced the breeze. Lush foothills climbed up to rugged, snow-capped peaks. The buildings, from the stables and arenas to the bunkhouse and main residence, matched in exterior design. White siding and green metal roofs gave everything a clean, orderly appearance while cupolas, pillars, arches, and Dutch doors added stylish elegance to set the place apart.

Friday Night Gin fought the reins as we passed the arena. “No, girl.” I pulled the black mare’s head up and forced her to stay on course. “You can eat later.”

When she neighed her displeasure, I leaned over to pat her neck. “I’d be moody too if my name reeked of alcohol.” Easing back on the reins, I slowed her pace and took another loop around the arena before dismounting and leading her to a wash bay.

“You’re a sweetie.” I ran the hose over her sleek coat. As Ginny nuzzled me, I giggled. “Mom said I wouldn’t have any friends here. Guess we proved her wrong.” I patted her flank and moved the stream of water over her hindquarters.

After drying her off, I led her to a stall off the arena. My domain. Mr. Law had partnered me with an older fellow named Larry Andersen to work with the yearlings and other young horses needing ground and saddle training. I was also responsible for mucking thirty stalls in the indoor arena and main stable. My days started before dawn and ended long after supper, but I loved every minute with my equine friends.

Closing the tack room, I headed toward the bunkhouse. My stomach growled as I wondered what Milt, the cowboy version of Betty Crocker, had whipped up for supper. Approaching the door, I threw back my shoulders and put on my poker face. Even though the other hands were nice, I still felt I had to prove myself since I was not only new, but female as well.

Entering the living area, I saw Rusty and Mike playing war games on the X-box.

“Hey, Liz,” Mike called.

“Hey yourself,” I said to the lanky teenager. I crossed the room to wash up before making my way into the common room. The aroma of beef made my salivary glands squeal.