Serenity Falls (8 page)

I
take a minute to collect myself before I turn and watch Wes pile food on his
plate. “Are you mad at me?” he asks.

“Why
would I be mad at you?” I’m confused. I don’t know why he would think I’d be
mad. He caught my plate before it hit the floor.

“For
earlier. For walking in on you in the shower.”

Oh
yes, the shower incident. “Honestly. No. I’m not mad at you.”

“Really?”
He spins around with his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

His
expression is so cute that I can’t help but laugh. “Really. As much as I
want
to be mad at you, I can’t. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not giving you permission to
keep on barging in on me in the shower or anything, but I realize that you were
just trying to be nice. I didn’t stop to look if there were towels in the
cabinet, which I should have. So, in a weird sort of way, thank you.”

“Anytime.”
He leans against the counter next to the stove, and nibbles on a piece of
bacon.

I
walk up, poke him in the chest, and as I try not to laugh as I tell him that he
needs to knock before just helping himself to occupied bathrooms.

With
a chuckle of his own, he reaches down and catches my finger. “The next time you
wanna poke my chest, just ask. I don’t hold reservations about pretty women
touching me.”

At
the same time, our eyes trail down to my finger still firmly pressed against
his chest. With a gasp, I quickly pull my hand away as if I’d just stuck it on
a hot stove. “I bet you don’t,” I reply evenly. I don’t know why I care, but I
do. I don’t really like the thought of him letting other women touch him.
Swallowing my bitterness at the thought, I look over at the stove.

“Holy
crap! Your mom cooked for an army,” I say, taking in the amount of food she’s
prepared. Scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, bacon, sausage, ham, and fresh
fruit litter the stove and surrounding counter tops.

“Mom
doesn’t know how to cook for just a few people. But you should know this since
you were here last summer.”

“Well,
last summer, I stayed in the volunteer quarters, so I never saw breakfast
prepared as soon as it was done.” I load a little bit of everything onto my
plate. I haven’t eaten this well since Christmas, and that’s when I was home
with Aunt Brenda.

“Did
you come here early like you did this year?” he asks.

“No.
I came at the same time as every other volunteer. Your parents saw how well I
got along with the horses and asked if I would consider coming again this
summer, and if I’d come early to help get everything in order before the kids
got here. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I shrug as if it’s not a big
deal, because to me, it’s not. There’s no place else that I’d rather be.

After
setting my plate down and pouring some orange juice, I take a seat at the
table. Wes fills the seat on the other side of me, looks at me closely, and
asks curiously, “You really like being here, huh?”

Right
before I can answer, the screen door swings open with Will, Sandy, and Brantley
in tow. “Breakfast is all done. Go ahead and help yourself, Brantley,” Sandy
says, then turns her attention to her husband. “Go take a seat while I make our
plates and pour us some juice.” She kisses her husband sweetly on his lips. I
duck my head, feeling awkward by their public display of affection.

“So?
What’s the plan for today, kids?” Will asks, taking a seat at the head of the
table.

“I
thought Kenleigh and I would take Lucy and Jane out of the stall and walk them
in the corral pen,” Wes answers before I can speak.

“I
figured I could take Autumn out for a while later on, too. That is, if you
don’t mind Mr. Will?” My eyes flick between Wes and his father.

“I
think it all sounds great. Lucy and Jane could both use an introduction to the
corral pen. And I know Autumn would love to go for a ride. Just not anything
too strenuous, okay?” Will nods as Sandy places his food in front of him.

A
smile graces my face as I watch the love between Mr. and Mrs. Adams. With that
smile comes a sense of longing as I remember how my own mom and dad looked at
each other in the exact same way. I push the memories back and finish my food.
I rise from the table and rinse my plate before depositing it in the
dishwasher.

“Mrs.
Sandy? Do you need help cleaning up?”

“I
got it. You go ahead. I know you have things that you wanna do.” She shoos me
out of the kitchen.

“Actually,
I need to run into town. Do y’all need anything while I’m out?” I ask.

“I
need to pick some stuff up too,” Wes answers. “Why don’t I come with you?”

“All
right, I’m just going to get my stuff from my room. You’ll let me know when
you’re ready?”

“Yeah,
just give me a few minutes.”

With
that, I disappear upstairs and into my room. I check myself over in the mirror,
taking in my white washed, cutoff, denim shorts, brown tank top, and brown
cowboy boots. With a couple swipes of mascara and some lip-gloss, I’m ready to
go. As soon as my hand touches the doorknob, it vibrates from the knock on the
other side. I pull it open to see Wes on the other side. His eyes roam up and
down my body. I roll my eyes at his audacity. “You ready?”

“Yep.
You want to take your Jeep or my truck?” he asks, giving him me the option.

“Your
truck,” I say, exiting my room. “On one condition—”

“If
you can drive it,” he interrupts.

I
know I’m wearing a cocky-ass grin, but he drove my Jeep last night, so it’s
only fair that I get to drive his truck. “That’s right. I wanna drive it. So,
what’ll it be?” With my hand on my hip, one corner of my lip turned up, and an
eyebrow arched, I wait for him to answer me.

I
watch the wheels in his head turning, before he finally huffs out a puff of
air. “Fine, you can drive her, but only if you’ll hang out with me tonight.”

“Fine,”
I reply, short and sweet. I can handle hanging out with Wes if it means I can
drive his sexy ass truck. “You ready?” I stick my hand out and wait. When the
cold metal of keys meets my palm, I squeal like a kid on Christmas morning, and
haul ass downstairs before he can change his mind.

With
the windows down and Wes in the passenger seat, I pull onto the long, winding
driveway that leads to the main road. I reach over to turn up the music but Wes
stops me by placing his hand on mine. “Before you do that, we need to go over
some ground rules with my truck.” His tone is serious and it takes all the will
power I have not to laugh at him.

Slowly,
my head gravitates in his direction, giving him an incredulous look.
Ground
rules? He can’t be serious.
Not able to contain it any longer, I erupt into
a fit of laughter. “What? You can’t be serious?” I ask, laughing even harder,
tears gathering in my eyes.

“Right
there,” he says, pointing at me. “No laughing. You need to stay focused on the
road.”

I
snap my mouth shut and press my lips into a hard line as I try to hold in the
laughter that is begging to break through.
No laughing? What the fuck?

“No
loud music either. It’s a distraction.” He places my hand back on the steering
wheel.

My
head whips in his direction, and with an eyebrow arched, and a mischievous
smile, I look between him and the road. “So, if I did this,” I say, turning the
music up loud. “Would that be breaking one of your rules?” I yell over the
booming sounds of Jake Owen’s
Eight Second Ride.

“That’s
not funny,” he grumbles and turns the music back down to a barely audible
level.

“Oh,
come on. It was a little funny.” I chuckle, and show a smidgen of space between
my forefinger and thumb.

I
can tell he’s doing his best to fight a smile, but then he adds, “Avoid
potholes. I don’t want my rims scratched up.”

Automatically,
I swerve and hit the mother of all potholes. Wes bounces up out of his seat,
and bumps into the door as his hand flies to the oh-shit handle above his head.
I bust at the seams with laughter when I see his face. His eyes are the size of
saucers. He has a white-knuckle grip on the handle above his head, and his
posture is as rigid as a cliff overlooking the water, unyielding to its
element. “You think that’s funny?” he asks.

“Hell,
yeah, I do! You’re a bull rider, but yet a few potholes scare you. You think
you’d be used to being jostled around a bit,” I reply, still laughing. I have
no choice but to pull over. The tears in my eyes from minutes ago return with a
vengeance. My cheeks hurt from the smile that won’t leave my face. A stitch
pierces my side from the uncontrollable laughter. Just when I think I’m able to
gain some type of composure, I look to a see a humorless Wes staring at me with
a dubious expression.

After
a couple of minutes and many deep calming breaths, he says, “I knew I shouldn’t
have let you drive. Come on. Get out. I’m driving the rest of the way.” When
his hand hits the handle to open his door, I hastily reach the button beside
me, locking us in.

“Uh-uh.
I let you drive my Jeep, and I didn’t give you any
ground rules
, so I’m gonna
drive your truck,” I say, stopping him from trying to evict me from the driver
side.

“You
do realize I can unlock the door, right? And, by the way, I gave you a shot at
driving my truck, and you blew it.”

“Wait!
Wait!” I reach for his arm and pull him away from the door. “How about I make
you a deal? What if I follow
one
of your ground rules?”

“Double
or nothing,” he replies, with a smirk.

“One?”

He
sighs, shaking his head. “Fine. Which one?”

“I
won’t hit anymore potholes, but come on, the laughing and the whole no music thing
is a tad ridiculous, don’t you think? I even heard you blaring your music
coming up the driveway yesterday.”

“Okay.
I see your point, but I promise, if you hit anymore potholes, I will haul your
little ass out of this truck myself,” he says, settling back into his seat.

“Fair
enough.” I shift the truck back into drive, ease it back onto the main road,
and this time avoid potholes.

After
a few minutes of quiet background music and uncomfortable silence, I can’t take
it anymore. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“No
laughing, really? Why on Earth would you make that a ground rule?” I didn’t
want to ask, but I just couldn’t help myself.

“Honestly?”

“Of
course.”

“You
asked for it. I like your laugh. You sound so full of life and so free that it
makes me want things I shouldn’t,” he replies, his eyes trained on me.

That’s
not at all what I expected him to say. I swallow hard and keep my eyes trained
on the road. Quietly, I clear my throat before I sneak a peek at him from the
corner of my eye. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, because I like to
laugh, and I like to laugh a lot. So, you better get used to it.” I give a
nervous laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere within the truck.

“What
did you need to get from the store?” he asks, successfully changing the
subject.

“Oh…
um… I forgot my robe back at my dorm, so I need to pick up one.”

“Is
that why I saw you hauling ass into the bathroom this morning?” He laughs.
Funny how the tables have turned, and now he’s the one laughing at me.

“Well,
if you saw me, then you already have the answer to your question. Don’t you?”
If I looked in a mirror right now, I’m sure my face would be the color of a
beet. I can feel the heat penetrating off my skin. I can’t believe that, after
being so careful, I still got caught after all.

“I
like the little shorts you sleep in,” he says in a quiet voice.

Now
it’s my turn to change the topic. “I think it would be a good idea when we get
back if we put the saddle pads on while we walk Lucy and Jane in the corral.
You know, to ease them into having the added weight on their backs.” I pull
into a parking spot outside of Kris’ department store. “I hope you don’t mind
if we stop here first? We’ll go wherever you need after I pick up a robe,” I
say as I turn off and jump out of the truck.

“Sounds
good to me.” 

Wes
follows my exit and meets me around the front of his truck. Nonchalantly, he
drapes his arm over my shoulders and pulls me into his side. I try to act as if
I don’t realize how perfectly I fit tucked in next to him. I try to act as if
the musky, citrus scent of him doesn’t suck me in. I want  to act like there
isn’t something pulling me to him, but I’d be lying to myself if I said those
things didn’t affect me. Instead, I try to play it off. Playfully, I shove him
away and laugh as he tries to put some swagger in his step.

We
drift through the decent sized department store, looking for the women’s
clothing section. Finally, we find it and I’m not greeted with many choices to
pick from as far as robes go.

“Here,
try this one on.” Wes hands me a mauve colored robe that’s smothered in pastel
flowers. His lips are curled under and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. My
obvious discomfort by hideous robes is his entertainment.

 My
lips curl, and my nose scrunches in disgust. “You’re joking right. That has to
be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” I attempt to hang it back on the rack
when Wes snatches it away from me.

“Come
on, I bet it’ll look great on you.” He smirks at me in a teasing manner. Wes
removes it from the hanger and walks up behind me. He taps me on the shoulder
before murmuring close to my ear. “Just play along.”

With
a shrug of my shoulders, I decide that if he wants a show, then that’s what he
will get. I spin around to face him before I yank the hideous robe out of his
hand. I reach out and seize a robe in every style before I grab his hand and
link his fingers with mine. Boisterous laughter escapes me at his stunned
expression as I pull him toward the dressing rooms. After we search for what
seems like endless minutes, I eventually find one. A blue, cloth chair sits in
front of a set of three full-length mirrors, all angled to give a person the
best view from each side behind them. I guide him to the chair and push him
into it. “Now, you just sit there and enjoy the show. I’ll be right back. Keep
your eyes closed until I tell you to open them,” I say, swaying my hips back
and forth, as I saunter into a dressing room and close the door behind me.

Since
he chose this disgusting, pinkish colored robe first, I decide that it’s the
one he wants to see me in the most. I slip the robe on over my clothes, secure
the belt around my waist, and make my way out of the tiny cubicle. His eyes are
still closed when I step in front of the three mirrors. I catch a glimpse of
myself and can’t help but think how I look like one of the women from
Golden
Girls
. I pull the collar of the robe tightly under my chin, and bat my eyelashes
when I purr, “You can open your eyes, Stud.”

The
clamorous laugh erupts from deep within him.

I
feign as if he’s just hurt my feelings. “What don’t you like it?”

“Okay,
you were right. It’s pretty ugly.”

“Oh,
you just wait. If you think this one is bad, I have another one for ya. It’s
nothing compared to this one, but still pretty bad.” I bounce back to the
dressing room to replace the atrocious robe with another.

This
one is dark green and striped in white and red, making me look like a piece of
Christmas wrapping paper. “Are you ready?” I ask, before coming out.

“I
don’t know. Is this one worse than the last one?” he asks.

“Not
as bad, but it’s still awful.”

“Bring
it on. I can handle it,” he replies.

This
time, I leave the robe open; the green fabric flies away from my sides as I
walk in front of where he’s sitting. Doing my best version of a pirouette, I
ask, “So, what do you think?”

“I
thought Christmas was months ago?” He rubs his chin with his forefinger and
looks like he’s deep in thought.

“I
know. Right?” I reply, sarcastically, turning to look at myself in the mirror.
“If you put a big ass, red bow on me, I could be a present.”

“Yes,
you could. My very own Christmas present that I would
love
to unwrap.” A
mischievous smile plays on his lips, and I know that he isn’t joking.

I
choose to ignore his little comment. “All right, I have one more.” I hurry back
and strip myself of the Christmas themed robe.

“Did
you save the best for last?”

“Of
course. I
am
a woman.” My tone makes it sound so obvious. I stand in the
dressing room, staring at the next abomination to fashion. It’s a purple number
covered with tubes of lipstick, compact mirrors, hairbrushes, vanities, and
bottles of perfume. I have to give it credit for something that the last two
didn’t have. At least the material is soft and fluffy. Although I’d like to say
that this one is the ugliest, I think that each robe I’ve tried on actually
ties for the most grotesque. Digging through my purse, I locate the brush that
I’ll need for the number I’m about to perform. This time, I tie the belt around
my waist again. I feel like someone who just stepped out of the eighties.

When
I shove the door open, I walk out in front of Wes. The hand holding the brush
stays tucked behind my back. My hair falls loosely around my shoulders when I
rip the hair tie from it with the other hand. Softly, I begin to hum the beat
to
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
by Cindy Lauper. It doesn’t take long
before I begin to belt out the lyrics. My brush as my microphone, held in front
of my mouth, my eyes tightly screwed shut, I belt out the lyrics with all my
heart.

 When
my eyes open, I shimmy and shake what my momma gave me in front of Wes, the
dressing room attendant, and the three mirrors that are now my backdrop. I look
into his eyes, singing to him in the soulful jazzy tone that I’ve been told I
have, and drown everything and everyone else out around us. By the time my
encore draws to a close, I look around to see numerous sets of eyes on me, but
there’s only one set of soul searching, hypnotizing eyes that keep pulling me
back. Wes smiles like the Cheshire cat and begins applauding my performance.
Hoots and hollers echo throughout the store and cause my face to ignite with a
blush. Purposely, I lean into Wes asking, “You ready to go? I think we might
have overstayed our welcome.”