Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3) (20 page)

“What?” spluttered Spence, spewing some remnants of his cake at his brother. “You are so going to pay for that.”

Dustin glared at Colton. “Traitor,” he mouthed.

Samantha joined in the fun. “Last week, I overheard Spence saying that you looked like a bobble head on the back of a horse, Dusty.”

“It’s true.” Spence chortled. “You bounce all over the place when you ride, like an amateur city boy.”

Dustin’s jaw clenched, his fist tightened around his fork, and Colton smiled and slung his arm around Samantha’s shoulders, leading her away. “That should do it. You can thank me later.”

Sure enough, the bickering began anew, and the brothers ended up with a dishrag and broom in their hands.

As the night came to a close, Colton scanned the backyard, listening to the chatter and laughter that filled the space between the fences and beyond. Adi had pitched in to help his brothers clean up, and Georgia and Maxwell sat in highchairs, digging into a pile of mashed-up cake. The light breeze from earlier had turned into more of a gust, quaking the aspens, tossing the helium balloon bouquet, and blowing Sam’s curls all around her head.

Colton pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead, thinking how great it felt to be part of the family, how lucky he was to have Samantha at his side, and how determined he was to do whatever it took to keep things this way.

After the party, Colton became a daily part of Sam’s life. She spent most mornings at the ranch, hanging out with him while he worked with Maj, going on a quick ride with him, or helping his mother with lunch or various other projects. When it came time for Kajsa’s afternoon lessons, she went home to do something with Adi, watch Maxwell and Georgia for Emma, or spend time with her mom or dad. Then evening rolled around, and she’d see Colton again. They’d get together for dinner at the Kinsey’s house, The Shack, or go out for a burger and country dancing or to a movie.

On the Fourth of July, the Mackies, Granthams, and Kinseys all joined the McCoys for a tasty barbeque and homemade ice cream, complete with sparklers. As darkness fell, they gathered together some blankets, climbed into the back of a few pick-ups, and travelled on a bumpy dirt road up the mountain to a clearing where they settled in and watched the spectacular Memorial Park fireworks show. Snuggled under a blanket next to Colton, Sam wanted to stay there forever. That had been a great day.

And so had the others. Sam looked forward to them all, thinking more of Colton and less of New York. But every once in awhile, her thoughts drifted into the murky, uncomfortable territory of her future. She’d already signed a six-month lease on her apartment and sent a check in the amount of her first and last months’ rent. If she was going to get out of the contract, she’d have to find someone to take it over soon. Very soon. She also needed to give Brecken Design enough time to find a replacement.

Replacement.

The thought of someone else sitting in the cubicle meant for her scratched at Sam’s nerves the way fingernails scratched against an emery board. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right—neither leaving nor staying.

With her blinds closed and the evening sun beginning to dim, Sam stared at the August calendar on her phone. Besides a friend’s birthday on the fifth and National S’mores Day on the tenth, only one other event was scheduled—an event that had been created over three months ago. Lying on her stomach on her bed, Sam tapped on Thursday, August 24, then again on the event scheduled at 10:45 AM.

Flight #4563, Denver to NYC

Time: 10:45AM—8:23PM

Note: Confirmation #7C14X210 (Dreams really come true!!!)

But did dreams really come true? When August twenty-fourth arrived, what would Sam be doing? Would the flight be cancelled and the job turned down? Or would she be shoving the last of her toiletries into a travel bag, tucking that into one of her suitcases, and sitting shotgun while her mother or father drove her to the airport?

Sam dropped the phone on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She thought of what her dad told her, about New York just being a detour, and wondered if maybe she could still have both. But was she willing to risk losing Colton to find out? What if she loved the job at Brecken Design so much that she wanted to stay? What if Colton met someone else while she was away?

What if? What if? What if?

What Sam wouldn’t give for a crystal ball right now.

If only Colton could uproot his life and come with her. Then all those what ifs would go away. But he couldn’t exactly tie millions of helium balloons to the ranch, carry it to New York and set it down in Central Park. Nor could he leave it behind and start over. What would a cowboy do in Manhattan anyway? Colton would go crazy in a place as congested as New York City. He loved the wide-openness of his ranch too much.

Blowing a few strands of ticklish hair from her face, Sam rolled off her bed and plodded toward her bathroom, stopping next to her dresser. The wooden sign she’d designed over a month ago had finally arrived, and here it sat, waiting for the perfect opportunity to be given to Colton.

Should she give it to him tonight?

As Sam reapplied her mascara, she heard a tap on her bedroom door, followed by her mother’s voice. “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?” Sam watched through the mirror as her mom let herself in.

“Becky.”

“Becky who?”

“Becky, the mom who never sees her daughter anymore.”

Sam leaned in to touch up her eye shadow. “Have you already forgotten we went out to lunch the other day?”

“If by ‘other day’ you mean last week, you’re right. We did. But that café was too loud to hear myself think, and every day since it’s been more of a hi and goodbye.”

Sam set down her makeup and met her mother’s gaze through the mirror. “I’m sorry. Between you, Adi, the twins, Kajsa, and Colton, I’m feeling a little stretched.”

A pensive look appeared in her mother’s eyes. “Is that all you’re feeling stretched about?”

Sam fiddled with the black mascara tube, thinking how easy inanimate objects had it. They had no minds to think, no questions to ask, no decisions to make. Everything was done for them.

“I wish you could make my decision for me.”

Her mom leaned against the counter and cocked her head to the side. “I wouldn’t know what to tell you if I could. What feels right?”

“They both do and they both don’t. That’s the problem. How can two rights make me feel so wrong and confused? Sometimes I wish I’d never gotten the job offer.”

Her mom moved behind Sam and combed her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Normally, Sam loved it when she did that. It relaxed and soothed her. But today it didn’t do any of that. It only frizzed her curls.

“Do you sometimes wish you’d never met Colton too?” her mother asked softly.

“No, I’d never wish that. I’d take him over the job any day of any week of any month. But an amazing opportunity has landed in my lap, and I just can’t…” Sam’s voice trailed off as the inky blackness of indecision and possible regret created a churning mass in her stomach.

“You want both,” said her mother.

Sam nodded.

“Have you talked to Colton about it?”

“No. Things are going so well. I don’t want to stir the pot.”

“Well, honey, the pot is going to need to be stirred sooner or later.”

“I’d prefer it be later.”

Her mother’s hands settled on Sam’s shoulders, and she gave them a squeeze. “Things are going to work out no matter what you decide.”

It was true. Things always had a way of working out in the long run, but not always without regret. And Sam didn’t want any regrets—not major ones anyway. She didn’t want to run into a closed door that would have been open if she’d only taken the job. And she
really
didn’t want to step aside while someone else walked down the aisle toward Colton. That would be the worst regret of all.

Sam dropped her head, feeling like her thoughts were too heavy to hold any longer. “I need a Magic 8 Ball,” she said. “Those things are never wrong, right?”

“Wrong.”

“Dang.”

Her mother’s laugh accompanied the faint sound of the doorbell chiming. “Sounds like Colton is here. What are your plans for tonight?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Just the usual, I guess. Dinner and hanging out and trying to avoid thinking about the future.”

“The usual?” Her mother’s eyebrow lifted. “The Sam I know would never fill her summer days with ‘dinner and hanging out.’ She’d fill them with the stuff good memories are made of, don’t you think?”

Her mom left to answer the door. Sam, on the other hand, stayed in her bathroom, watching her reflection in the mirror without really seeing it. Her mother was right. She’d let the worry of indecision overshadow her usual enthusiasm and creativity. She’d become a hum-drum, weighted down person who was allowing precious time to pass her by. This wasn’t her. She didn’t want this to be her.

Sam gave herself a hard look. “You are a spunky, vivacious woman. Don’t forget it,” she said out loud. Someday soon, she’d figure out what to do with Thursday, August twenty-fourth. In the meantime, she’d make the rest of the days ones to remember.

Sam slipped on her white, strappy sandals, shoved her phone into her large purse, grabbed two beach towels from the hall closet, and trotted down the stairs, leaving the foil-wrapped gift on top of her dresser. She found Colton in the kitchen with her father, tossing some chocolate-covered almonds into his mouth. When he saw her, he smiled.

“Hey, gorgeous. Long time no see.”

Sam didn’t bother reminding him she’d seen him only that morning. “There’s been a change of plans. Instead of going to Drifters for burgers tonight, we’re going shopping.”

Her father tried to cover up a laugh with a cough while Colton frowned. “Shopping?”

Sam nodded. “You are in some serious need of some non-cowboy clothes. Do you even own sandals?”

He glanced at his jeans and boots. “What’s wrong with these?”

Sam exchanged a look with her mother before tugging on Colton’s arm. “You can’t go fountain hopping wearing that,” she said as she pulled him toward the door.

“I’m sorry. Did you just say
fountain hopping
?”

“Yes.”

Her excitement was soon deflated when they arrived at the store, and Colton shot down everything she pulled off the rack or pointed out to him.

“Plaid belongs on shirts, not shorts—unless you’re a golfer, which I’m not.”

A quick look around the store, and Sam spotted a man wearing black plaid shorts and a green t-shirt. “Look.” She pointed. “He’s wearing plaid, and I guarantee he’s not a golfer.”

“Excuse me, sir.” Colton raised his voice, and the man glanced his way.

“Yes?”

“Do you golf?”

“When I get the chance.”

“Thank you.” Colton looked back at Sam. “See?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s not golfing
now
.”

“Maybe he just left the course and hasn’t had time to change.”

“Why don’t you ask him and find out?” she muttered, placing the shorts back on the rack. She moved on to t-shirts and pulled out a royal blue athletic shirt with a Nike swoosh across the front. “What about this?”

He took the shirt from her hands, and Sam held her breath, hoping she’d finally found something he’d at least be willing to consider. But he promptly hung it back on the rack. “Sorry, but cowboys don’t wear silk.”

“It’s not silk,” she said. “It’s a combination of spandex, rayon, and polyester. It’s an
athletic
shirt. Lightweight, dries easily, and what most guys love about it: doesn’t wrinkle.”

“It feels like silk. And it’s shiny.” He lifted an orange cotton t-shirt from another rack and held it up for her inspection. The Denver Bronco’s logo stared back. “Now this is a shirt I’ll consider.”

“It’s exactly like every other t-shirt in your closet.”

“No. This is orange. I don’t have an orange shirt.”

“You already have two Bronco shirts that I’ve seen.”

“I actually have three. But this one is
orange
.”

She let out a breath of frustration before dragging him over to the shoe department. “What about these?” She pulled a pair of Teva’s off the shelf and held them up for his inspection.

He didn’t even give them a second look. “Those would be filled with dirt the second I walked out my front door.”

Sam replaced them without argument and gestured to his jeans. “Are you really going to wear denim and boots fountain hopping? They’ll never dry.”

He gnawed on his lower lip before tipping his head to the side. “About this fountain hopping thing… have you ever done it before?”

“Yeah. Once or twice with some friends in college.”

“And they were all willing participants?” He looked skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun. And because it doesn’t involve getting drunk.”

Colton chuckled. “See, that’s where we’re different because I would have to be completely slammed to ever agree to hop through a fountain.”

“You don’t actually hop. You just splash each other and get wet. You
have fun
.”