Kiss Me Hard Before You Go (3 page)

He vaguely remembered her from the summers before – he’d see her working the farm with her father, just like she was on this day, but he had never interacted with her. Not even once.

Gray had given a set of rules for the carnies to follow, and a spit with a handshake from Kip, the carnival’s owner, made him certain that the rules would be adhered to. If Kip shook a man’s hand and spat to boot, then his word was as good as gold. One of the rules, and it was the most sacred, was that no carnies have contact with Evie. She was off limits. They respected what was asked of them and left the girl alone. What’d they care about a young girl anyway? They had business to attend to, and a distraction like her wasn’t part of their daily routine. Besides, she didn’t get near them or the carnival for that matter.

Finch had met plenty of girls on the circuit. Not so many that he was a ladies man, and not so little that he wasn’t experienced in the ways of love. Hook-ups along the circuit were common. He tried to steer clear of getting together with anyone he worked with. That was senseless drama, and he had witnessed too many fights and squabbles because of illicit love affairs gone bad. He only formed relationships with girls he met in the towns they visited along the circuit. Meet a girl, make-out or take it a step further, then move on to the next place. That was his mantra. His mom tried to teach him how to treat a girl, but buying flowers and chocolates wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t into dispersing worthless compliments or kissing ass. He wanted things real and honest, not fake and full of unkept promises. A part of him wanted a long-term relationship – the kind where he could fully open up with a girl. The other part told him to keep things as they were and enjoy the ride. Life was short, and he didn’t need unnecessary complications like having a steady girlfriend.

Stoney parked the truck, and they got out. Truck after truck trudged through, driving onto the grassy knoll. Finch moved to the back of the truck and lowered the bed. He jumped up into the truck bed and got behind the cotton candy machine – it was tethered to the truck and tightly bound. He pulled on the rope. “Jesus, Stoney, this is tight.” He grimaced, knowing he’d have blisters once he was finished.

“Tighter than a virgin gnat,” Stoney said and smiled. Stoney wasn’t known for being tactful. “Gotta be, kid, otherwise she’ll move.” He patted his hand against the truck proud of his work.

Finch huffed and grabbed hold of the braided burlap rope, trying to untie the knot. Out of frustration, he took his knife and cut the rope in half.

“Jesus, kid, we can’t use that rope now,” Stoney complained.

“Well... if you hadn’t tied it so damn tight, I wouldn’t have had to cut it,” Finch replied.

“Wasteful,” he spat.

“Since when do you care if we’re wasting Kip’s money?” Finch said, leaning his body against the machine.

“Since he started counting every single penny. I’ll never hear the end of this,” Stoney said, a few wrinkles covered his forehead. “He’s been riding us all real hard.”

“It’s a rope. He won’t notice,” Finch retorted. He pushed the machine in one failed attempt.

“You could help,” Finch said in between breaths.

“Old man like me ain’t ‘spose to exert himself,” he said and took another drag off his cigarette.

Finch stood upright and folded his arms against his chest, his eyebrow cocked.

“What?” Stoney asked, trying to feign confusion.

“You know
what
. I’m not moving an inch until you get up here to help me.”

Stoney stomped his cigarette out on the ground and heaved himself up into the truck. “You happy, kid?”

“Yup,” Finch answered and they worked together to move the machine off of the truck. “I’ll go grab a dolly,” Finch said.

He scoured the area searching for an unused dolly. All of the trucks had made their way into the farm. The rides weren’t set up yet, and Finch knew he’d be in the middle of it, setting them up until the sun went down, possibly later. It’d take hours to unload it all and get everything ready. That was the part he detested – setting it all up only to take it all down within a matter of a week.

That was another thing he enjoyed about this farm. They stayed five weeks, instead of their normal one week stint. They never stayed anywhere that long. But after a successful summer, Kip saw the benefit of sitting tight longer and found that he could compromise with Gray who had originally proposed the idea. The area thrived with customers who never tired of the rides and spending money on food and shows.

Finch grabbed a dolly and wheeled it with him toward Stoney’s faded red truck. The old man was smoking again. This was the norm. Most of the carnies smoked, even Finch’s mother had. He hated the stench and, after smoking one cigarette when he was thirteen, saw that there was nothing interesting about it. Since then, he’d sworn them off and was glad he hadn’t inherited the nasty hacking cough that so many of the carnies had.

“Hey,” a voice called. “Excuse me.”

Finch turned to see who was calling him. It was Evie, and she didn’t look happy.

“Yeah,” Finch said, waiting for her to get on with it.

“Could you tell your friend to put his cigarette butts up in his truck bed? He’s got a pile higher than a moon pie and guess who’s gonna have to clean it up?”

“Mother Theresa?” Finch quipped.

She scowled at him. “You’re a riot.”

“Thanks.” He flashed a sardonic grin. “If you look around, you’ll see he isn’t the only one smoking.”

She glared at him. “I’ve got enough shit to clean up. I don’t need to clean up after y’all too,” she explained with a stressed expression almost evoking the word “please” with her eyes.

“I’ll tell him, Laura Ingalls,” he teased and sauntered away. He could hear her breathing heavy and muttering to herself. He tried not to laugh, but she had some nerve. Coming up to him and bossing him around like she owned the place. Okay, so she kinda owned the place, but that wasn’t the point. He had been there less than one hour and she took it upon herself to tell him where to stick Stoney’s cigarette butts. He was libel to turn around and tell her where she could stick the cigarette butts. He knew just the place, but when he peered over his shoulder, he saw her golden hair blowing from the breeze and lost his train of thought.

Fine, she was cute. Really cute. He could admit that. But man could she give a mean look – the kind that’d send anyone running. Not him though. He could handle an irate female. And the attitude? She talked to him like he was a nuisance. Didn’t she know that they were doing her dad and her a favor? They were helping them make money. There was no way those cows put out that much income, not in five weeks anyway. He figured she’d at least show a little bit of gratitude.

“Spoiled little brat,” he muttered under his breath. He turned around and rolled the dolly toward Stoney.

“Saw the girl talking to you.” Stoney was annoyingly observant.

“More like talking at me,” Finch said and shrugged her off. He was tempted to light up a cigarette and drop it to the ground just to tick her off. He knew that’d be immature, but so help him, he wanted to irritate her.

“Ready?” Finch gestured to the cotton candy machine. They lifted it slightly and placed it on top of the dolly. Finch pushed the dolly – the machine was heavy – while Stoney walked in front of him directing traffic. He had the easy job. Finch figured he’d cut the old man some slack.

“Almost there,” Stoney said, a cigarette hung from his lips. “Right here will do.” He pointed.

Finch set it down, and rubbed his sore muscles. He moved his hair away from his brown eyes. It was going to be a long day.

Chapter 4

They had been there less than an hour and already she was livid. Cigarette butts were all over the place, and she’d be the one who’d have to clean up the mess. That’s the way it was each year. Her bent over, picking them up, and tossing them into large garbage sacks. For days and days and days.

The guy had some nerve, smirking at her and calling her “Laura Ingalls.” And his walk, he sauntered about in an arrogant sort of way. Like he thought his shit didn’t stink. She knew the kind; there were tons just like him in Haines. Rednecks with big trucks who went muddin’ and tried to prove themselves when they didn’t have anything worth bragging about.

“Cocky son of a bitch,” she mumbled. If her dad heard her, he’d threaten to wash her mouth out with soap. Cursing was not allowed in the Barnes’ home, and any time she used an expletive, she had to drop a dollar of her hard earned cash into the cursing jar – a mason jar labeled
Potty Mouth Fees
. Gray was no better, and Evie enjoyed the times she’d caught him, pointing to the jar for him to make an offering. At last count, there were thirty-three one dollar bills in it, and that was just from the beginning of the year.

All of the cattle were fed and made their way out of the barn and onto the land to graze the rest of the day until meal time came again. Some of the heifers were more stubborn than others they’d had in the past. It took a few strong words and empty threats from Evie to get them to the barn that morning. Thank goodness for her three wheeler. Gray used to ride a horse to wrangle them into the barn, but that was years ago and Evie refused to get near any horse for that matter. At the age of nine, she fell off of one and broke her leg as a result. Since then, she was scared of them, and every single one she encountered sensed her fear. He bought two ATVs for that one reason, and they used them to get around the farm since that time.

She saw her dad talking with the carnival owner, Kip. She recognized his slicked back silver hair and thin, gaunt face. Both of them looked pleased with their little venture, watching as the trucks were being unloaded and all of the carnies were hard at work. Of course they were happy: they were supervising while everyone else did all the work.

But Gray wasn’t a lazy man. He worked hard. Really hard. And Evie couldn’t fault him for taking a break to watch everything unfold. His eyes lit up, and his grin grew wide when the carnival came to town. Like a little kid almost. Evie thought her dad loved the carnival because of nostalgia. There was nothing nostalgic about it for her. She was trying to put on a happier, more content face. Her dad didn’t need to see her lack of enthusiasm and pissed off nature. But that was what she was – pissed off.

***

Evie sat on top of their wooden fence. It needed a paint job, and she knew what that meant. She and her dad would be laboring away with paint brushes in their hands for days come fall. Her feet dangled and kicked against the bottom rail.

It was getting dark out. The sun was slowing fading, and a crescent moon glowed in the sky. She could hear the carnies chattering and moving about; the circus tent flapped in the wind, and an odd array of sounds came from the rides. Music and the hum of motors created an odd harmony that Evie hoped to become immune to in the days to come. Then there was the smell of cigarettes and motor oil that lingered in the air from the crew’s hard day’s work.

Miles, Evie’s pet ox, stood near her and mooed every now and again, begging for her attention. She patted him on the head and cooed at him. His big brown eyes blinked in recognition. She swore he understood her.

On one of their trips to a cattle auction, Evie first laid eyes on the little fellow. “Aww, isn’t he cute?” she had said to her dad who didn’t seem as impressed by the bundle of brown fur. A bull was a bull. Big deal. They didn’t do much. A donkey would be more useful. At least it would haul something. But a bull?

Evie knew how to reel Gray in hook, line and sinker. He’d lasso the moon for her if she asked. And staring into her bright blue eyes and seeing her face all giddy with excitement over the calf, well, he could give in.

He was mocked. A bull calf? For what purpose? Other than to please his daughter so she could go out each day, pet him, and treat him like she would a cat or a dog. But she hadn’t ever asked for a cat or a dog, or anything else. He felt the need to make her happy, and if the bull did just that, then he’d buy ten of them if he had to. Gray was called a fool behind his back. Wasting dollars on a bull just so his daughter could have a pet. Seeing the twinkle in Evie’s eyes every time she approached Miles made it all worth it. He was willing to endure mocking. If his daughter was happy, then that was all that mattered.

Miles was just one week old when she got him. With no mama in sight, Evie was the substitute, staying awake all hours to bottle feed the hungry bull. He was so needy, whining for attention. She ended up sleeping in his calf hutch with him the first week he arrived on the farm. Gray warned Evie that he’d turn mean as a snake if he wasn’t turned into a steer before he grew too old. The thought of it made Evie squeamish, but she understood the laws of nature. It had to be done, and within a few months, Miles was castrated and became a steer.

He had been Evie’s pet for six years. He wasn’t shy about people and would nuzzle up to anyone and start chewing on their clothes. He liked to be petted and talked to. Baby talk suited him just fine. And he was the laziest animal Gray had ever had. Sleep and eat. That was what he did. He had free reign of the property and was known to wander about, graze in one spot for a while, or stand near the barn when Evie was working, and then move on. Gray was often asked if he was worried about Miles wandering off the property, but Gray would just shrug and say, “Nah. He’s too smart for that.”

Gray interrupted Evie’s thoughts. “They’re starting to test some of the rides out. Wanna ride one?” he asked, a gleam in his eye.

“That’s okay,” she said. She was content sitting there on that fence, away from the spectacle. She’d be fine never riding any of the rides for the entire five weeks.

“I may try a few out,” he said, and for a brief second she could picture her dad as a little boy riding every single ride, screaming at the top of his lungs with his hands high up in the air. “Sure you don’t want to ride one with me?” He nudged her while flashing a goofy grin.

He might as well have begged. “Just one, and it has to be that thing.” She pointed to The Super Slide. It seemed like the safest bet as far as rides went. She wasn’t into being jostled or having the sensation to vomit, and with the exception of the kiddie rides, the slide was the most tame of rides the carnival offered. It was new to the carnival; she hadn’t noticed it the previous summers.