Bring the Rain (12 page)

“
What did you
love about New York?” Colt asks me from behind the plastic menu. We sit in a corner booth right off the dance floor, mahogany wood hugging us together.

“I liked the musicianship.” I eye a folk-y looking group of cowboys setting up their instruments for the evening.

“Not high hopes here?”

On cue, a cymbal crashes to the ground and a college-aged cowboy drops an F-bomb. I nod at the klutz. “Can you blame me?”

Colt laughs. “Oh, like they don’t do that in the city.” He waves over my shoulder. “Hello there, Jenny. Great to see you again.” A woman with a canvas apron pauses at our table, flipping open her notepad and giving Colt a grin. I can’t help but notice her thick Midwestern curve. Grace has it too. I wonder if Mom would have more to her hips if she still lived here. There’s something wonderfully homey about it.

“Colt, baby, it’s been too long. You need to come in with your mama more often. Stop working yourself to the bone.” Her bright pink lipstick accentuates her huge smile. It’s super pretty, but what stands out the most is how her teeth are sort of stained yellow and the bottom row is a bit crooked. Waitresses in New York have perfect teeth--they have to be brilliant white to make it into the acting and modeling industries. Jenny doesn’t seem to care about her teeth, she smiles anyway. She blows a strand of hair out of her eye with grace and somehow her smile becomes even more genuine, like she really loves working there.

“Now, honey, those eyes could only belong to a Gallaber. You must be Autumn?”

“I am.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet ya dear. So, what can I get you two tonight? Colt, is the bacon cheddar burger with a Coke Zero still your poison?”

“Always.” He says, handing over his menu.

“And, Autumn, what would ya’ like, love?”

“I’ll have the chicken bruschetta burger please, with a water.”

“Excellent, I’ll get that straight away. And, Autumn, welcome back.”

I smile back at her, playing pleasant as I wonder if this is the woman my father slept with seven years ago. She does know his eyes, but the blond-haired woman sitting at the bar with the pleather knee-high boots and a bright pink shirt is looking more like the culprit right now.

For real, why would anyone sleep with a worried, married man? Especially one who is in pain. Talk about a sick power trip. Dad’s still at fault, ultimately it was his choice to confide in her and go to her bed, but, really, what a soulless creature to pounce on that sort of prey.

“What are you looking at?” Colt taps on the tabletop.

“Nothing. I’m just taking everything in. The bar’s changed since I was last here.”

“Yeah. They redid the place–new seating and darker window shades—when a new chef took over a few years ago.”

I glance at the new, crisp restroom sign dangling from the ceiling where a bucket with a hand-painted bathroom sign used to hang. I sort of miss the bucket. The bathrooms were so cool with stalls made of old barn doors and horse sconces on the walls. I’d go to the bathroom at least twice a visit just so I could stare at how the light made the horses glow.

“Tell me more about New York. What did you love about it?” Colt draws me back to him.

“Well, there’s so much to love there. The food. The architecture.”

“What about the people?”

“They’re all unique. In Manhattan, everyone’s busy, but no one is down. People walk with excitement, like they all have a real purpose.”

“A money purpose?”

I shrug, “Maybe, but there’s the dream behind that money. I guess, overall, I like the energy. I like knowing there’s always something to go see, some music to hear, or something new to taste. Manhattan is an adventure.”

“You’re going to miss it.” It’s not a question. I smile at him, appreciating his understanding.

“I will. Paris should be plenty a distraction though. What about you? Ever think of moving to a big city?”

“For med-school, maybe. I plan to end up practicing in a small town when I’m done with my residency though. I won’t make a ton, but I’ll get to know my patients. It’s what my grandfather did.”

“Did you grow up here? I don’t remember you.”

“No, I grew up in Alabama. We moved here after Dad died. Mom needed a fresh start. There were too many memories back home and no family to keep us there anyway. We were on our way to Maine and stopped here for the night. She liked the style of the town, so we stayed one more. The next morning, she grabbed a job full-time in Ted’s Grocery and rented the apartment above. I was fourteen. I’ll never forget meeting your Dad. I thought he had a crush on my mom or something because he was willing to board Baby for free. When I turned fifteen, he offered up the yellow house in exchange for my part-time work on the ranch.”

“You don't own the house?”

“Nope. You guys do—the ranch is huge now.” Jenny returns with our drinks. “Mom was working overtime at Ted’s to make ends meet. She couldn’t afford childcare, so I’d watch Chase. Your Dad’s offer of free board allowed her to take a part-time secretary position so she could be around more for us.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. He sort of saved us. So now I work full-time for your dad and we still get to live in the yellow house. I get a small paycheck now which I place in savings to help pay for school. He’s a good man.”

“I guess.”

“You guess? Trust me, he is.”

The blond, curvy woman at the bar slides off her stool and chooses another next to a middle-aged guy. She laughs, placing her hand on the cowboy’s shoulder.
Home-wrecker
. Colt’s eyes follow mine.

“Do you know her?” he asks. I shake my head. “That’s Julie Booker, the new elementary school teacher.”

Oh my God. I’ve turned into a crazy middle-aged Midwestern woman-hater. I’m pathetic.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. I just… she reminded me of someone.”

Colt reaches across the table and taps my finger. “What’s up? Why so hard on Chris, and why the death stare at other women?”

I bite my lip, wondering if I should tell him. More like needing to. If only Dad wasn’t his boss. Sharing this could be completely inappropriate.

Colt takes a sip of his Coke Zero. “You know what? Never mind. It’s not my place to know. I’m sorry.”

And that’s how I know he’s safe to tell.

“My parents divorced because my dad cheated on my mom, one night at a bar. Probably this bar.”

Colt’s expression softens and the tip of his finger reaches forward to rest on mine. “I’m sorry, Autumn. That must have been hard.”

“It was, and it still is. Dad only told me about it a few weeks ago. I’m still trying to make sense of it. Of how, of why… ya know?”

“He messed up.”

“A lot.”

Colt nods in agreement as Jenny brings our food to the table. “Gobble up,” she says. She watches me as I take my first bite. The flavors melt together perfectly—fresh tomatoes, basil, mozzarella and moist chicken make the perfect bite.

“Good?” she asks.

“Amazing. Very impressive.”

“Fantastic. The chef will enjoy hearing it.”

I take another bite as Colt studies his burger. “Aren't you hungry, cowboy?”

He smiles faintly, but doesn’t pick it up. His ice blue eyes meet mine. “You know your Dad talks about you all the time?” he says. “The first time I met him he told me about how you were such a great rider. He never shuts up about you, actually.”

“Oh?” Well, that’s nice to say, but harder to prove.

“He does. He showed me the article featuring your artwork in your school’s newspaper.”

Sixth grade.

“He told everyone about the time you got detention for kicking a guy in the balls during the Super Bowl’s halftime one year.”

Ninth grade.

“And my personal favorite he shared last summer when I was trying to get out of work early.”

“And what was that?”

“How you successfully used PMS as an excuse to get out of your gym final.”

Tenth grade. “Our
gym
had less space than half a basketball court. I wasn’t going to run back and forth for half an hour while they timed my mile.”

His eyebrow lifts with a cocky grin. “Would you kill me if I knew how old you were when you first got your period?”

The fork misses my mouth and coleslaw falls to the table. 

“You were eleven.” Colt laughs, then bites into his burger.

“How? Why?” My face is no doubt as red as a stop sign. I don’t know who I’m going to kill first, Colt or Dad.

“Don’t worry, that I heard while eavesdropping.” He shrugs. “Your dad and my mom were chatting about a Time Magazine article about girls maturing early. I was supposed to be watching Chase, but I found their conversation much more interesting. Don’t sweat it, it’s not like I’ve told anyone.” He tosses me his crooked smile, and it takes all my strength to not grin back.

“So, are we going to talk about my menstrual cycle now?”

He scrunches up his face. “I’d rather not, but if that’s what you do with friends, I’m willing.”

“Ahh, so that’s how I should classify you then. Good, I’ve been having trouble sorting you out.”

“As what?”

“Just one of the girls.”

His eyes bulge a bit as he takes a quick sip of his soda. “Now that, I don’t want.” He wipes his mouth from his napkin and holds out his hand. “Come on. You need a spin around this dance floor.” He pulls me from the booth as the cowboy on stage strums his guitar.

“Oh no, I’m a really horrid dancer.”

“Oh yes." His hand moves to the small of my back and leading me across the floor. No one else is even out here yet. He’s crazy. Everyone’s got to be watching us. He doesn’t seem to care though as he takes my arms and wraps them around his neck.

“Friends can dance,” he says, but I sense an undeniable hormonal edge to his voice. My legs are suddenly jelly, and, with his bright blue eyes staring down at me, I’d have to be a super-human to resist his charm.

The band joins the guitarist as we sway. His body is neither too close nor too far away. I can’t rest my head on his shoulder, but I can feel him each time he breathes. He spins me in and out during the song’s chorus.

“So is this so bad?” he whispers in my ear. “And I’m not talking about the band.” He twirls me again but this time, when he pulls me back in, we're even closer. I hear the thump of his heart against his chest and mine responds enthusiastically.

“I’m sorry about your parents. That’s a wound requiring a long time to heal. But,” he stops dancing now and his sweet blue eyes barrel into my soul, “I hope you know your dad loves you. You need to talk to him.”

He pulls me near, so now my head can rest against his solid chest. The song transitions into another slow country tune. My nose itches and I know my eyes are damp. He redirects us into the middle of the floor, hiding us among the couples finally joining the floor.

Who is this cowboy that shakes me so easily to my core?

As his heart pounds in my ear, I fight to be mad at him. He has no right to say such things, but with his warm hands wrapped strong around my lower back, I let myself be. For the first time I don’t worry about how I feel. Instead I focus on his warmth as he rocks me close. I don’t know how he tricked me back into his arms but I do know one thing— this is where I want to be.

We dance another two songs before the band picks up the beat. People pour onto the dance floor with a little too much excitement and form a few lines. As the introduction of the song finishes, everyone starts shifting to the right.

He eyes me, “I suspect this isn’t your thing?”

“I do
not
line dance.” I beeline toward our table, abandoning Colt with the lame-oids.

The grapevine begins and Colt’s feet cross in beat to the choreography on his way back to the table. A huge smile plasters his face, mirroring mine. “Want to get out of here?” he asks, ending with a clap in time with everyone else on the dance floor. “The line dancing on a Friday night can last hours.”

“Yes, dear God, please.”