Bring the Rain (9 page)

Dad cautiously moves to rest his hand on my shoulder. His voice is low. “Did he force himself on you?”

“No. Of course not.” Dad’d go insane if he knew it was the other way around. I step out of his reach. “Colt wouldn’t do that. We just didn’t click.” I turn towards him. “I guess I’m bummed... It’s lonely here.” There. I’ve found the perfect wedge to alter the path of this interrogation. “It would've been nice to have a friend around.”

“I understand,” he says, stepping away. “If you don’t click--you don’t click. Honestly? I’m relieved. I won’t have to worry about you dating this summer. As far as being lonely though, that I don’t want. What happened to Gina? You should invite her over tonight for dinner.”

“She’s working.” Her job at the town’s ice cream parlor allows her to get paid and have free ice cream for doing what she does best— flirting. The shop makes it nice and easy because all the guys literally have to line up to see her.

“Well, you’re not alone. I’m always around.” He says and nudges me.

Yup, Dad. You’re right. You're always here in Oklahoma, except that one weekend a year where you drag yourself to New York City to put up with me.

I force myself to crack a smile, desperate to get from the porch into my bedroom to have a good cry. I don’t care if my expression’s fake. Let him think I believe he’s clever and present.

And he does. His face brightens. “So, how about”--

“I need a shower,” I interrupt him. There’s no way I’m facing a concocted evening of father-daughter bonding time right now. “And then sleep. Early day tomorrow, right?”

He pauses for a second, thrown by my abrupt rejection. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“What else is there to do? Plus, I’m trying to save up for shopping in Paris. I hear work is good for that.”

Dad takes a step back and wipes his brow. “About that...” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “When I talked to you this spring about paying you to help out on the ranch, I didn’t realize we’d have this huge drought.” His eyes dart to the ground then back to mine. “I just need your help. As help.”

Oh crap. My lungs tighten as the rug’s pulled out from beneath me. I’m desperate to bolt and hide. I’m such a spoiled brat. Why did I assume he’d still pay me when he could lose the ranch? Heck, he shouldn’t have to pay me in the first place. I’m technically his daughter. What was I thinking? Talk about a major selfish fail. 

I plaster on a smile to make him feel better, but it only makes me feel worse. Let’s be honest. I’m doing this so I don't have to feel guilty. Also, I hate to admit it, but the words are on my tongue, ready to take advantage of his position. I could act pissed off and shove that knife into his cheating core and twist it more. But that look on his face with his mouth slightly open and eyes darting away from me while he wipes his brow? It’s lost pride. I can’t try to hurt him right now. I clear my throat before I speak. “It’s a family ranch, Dad. I’m family, so I’ll work for free.” His eyes brighten with the mention of family. “While I’m around," I add.

I’m fine with not being paid, but that’s the limit. Family first, even if I have to lead by example. I don’t have to like it though. The only thing I owe him is to be realistic about my plans.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He opens the door and I step in the house. “I left some work boots for you outside of your bedroom. If they don't fit, let me know and I can try to run into town during lunch tomorrow.”

My face heats as I push the image of the gorgeous Frye equestrian boots tied with a red bow out of my mind. Whatever Dad bought for me will be already used, and that’s good enough for me.

“Thanks,” I say before I walk down the hall to my room. There’s a pair of sturdy mid-calf work boots set against my bedroom door. There’re pretty, with stitched detail of a rose running along the outer edge. The leather is pliable and slightly moist. The aroma of treated leather seeps into my pores. I try them on and the boots hug my feet, a perfect fit. It’s impressive he guessed my size. I slide the boot off, and I gasp as familiar cursive handwriting catches my eye.
First Anniversary Gift
is written on the tag. Mom.

My mouth dries as my pointer finger traces the stitched roses. It's another piece of Mom he preserved. The garden, the saddle, now this? Nothing in our apartment in Manhattan reminded me of Dad, yet here I’m finding little pieces of us everywhere. He hasn’t let anything change since we’ve left. That’s not healthy because, despite his effort, so much did change. It had to. Why can’t he see that? Mom understood. Our Manhattan apartment was a clean break, nothing country about it. She didn't even bring her favorite rooster salt and pepper shakers. They didn’t belong with us anymore.

I put the boots down. It’s been a long time since I’ve been slammed with so many reminders of what our life was. I wasn’t expecting so much pain. How can Dad live like this all the time? I grab a towel and wait for the shower to warm. It’s like everything in Oklahoma is trying to reject the person I’ve become with the reminders of how things used to be.

Then there’s the slam from Colt’s last minute change of heart. It doesn’t make sense. We were clicking, in the best way. It seemed right.

My tongue tingles, remembering Colt’s. His kiss told me he was on board. I step into the shower, the hot water beats against the back of my neck where Colt’s lips once touched. Good, wash those kisses away. It’s crazy how he freaked out so much about sex. I’m not the hottest thing on earth, but I’m not ugly either. I’ve never been refused before. In fact, I’m the one usually doing the refusing.

It’s not like I sleep with any guy who kisses me or slide around on bathroom counters in clubs with strangers. I’ve only had sex with one guy. Just one. We spent last summer together. His father, a businessman from Egypt, was stationed in Manhattan for the summer and they rented the apartment across the hall. It was the perfect no-strings attached situation. He was super intelligent, kind, smoking hot, and a year and a half older. When he spoke to me, I felt like I was the only thing that mattered in his world. It’s totally cliché, but being with him made me feel special, like I was worth something.

A soap sud slips into my eye. Damn it. I try to blot the stinging pain away.

Screw Colt. He knows nothing about my past. I know I’m not a slut. He has no right to judge me. Having a sexual history doesn't make me a walking-vagina-of-disease. Guys sleep around all the time. Just because he hasn’t been brave enough to try doesn’t mean he needs to take it out on me. A cowboy without courage is pathetic.

The water runs cool. I rinse out my conditioner and wrestle with the handle. Once off, a blast of cold water spits in my face. Now that was unnecessary. Colt’s rejection was enough of a cold shower for the day.

This is ridiculous. I’m stronger than this. Any guy so juvenile doesn’t deserve me. I’ll just concentrate on helping on the ranch to pass the summer and then find some hot French tour guide to introduce me to Paris this fall. Unfortunately, the plan is already flawed. It’s not like I can avoid Colt. In the entire tumbleweed, drought-ridden, cow shitty state of Oklahoma, why does he have to work on my father’s ranch?

It’s cow ball
day—talk about a nasty nightmare.

I step over a pile of chopped off testicles as I take a detour across the corral to avoid Colt’s stare. It’s tempting to point down at the balls and mouth “this is you” in his direction, but I try to have some class.

I spend the morning taking out my aggression on the calves. I’m surprisingly skilled at wrestling them to the ground. It's a rush to get hold of them, but my stomach turns as I restrain them for castration. I can't watch it. Poor fellas. Every time I release one from my arms, I hear my PETA obsessed friends’ rant. They wouldn’t recognize me now. I never dared let on how I used to live on a cattle ranch. For all they knew, I was vegan, which I’m most certainly not.

I’m good at fitting into different groups. In New York, I have my clubbing friends, vegan friends, fashion friends, and yoga friends. No circle intersects and I like it that way. I even keep Gina out of all the loops. In fact, none of them know anything about my ranching history. Not since middle school at least, and those friends moved away.

That’s the only lame thing about New York City—the constant state of flux, people always coming and going. I’ve learned to think of relationships in the now, never planning for the future. I’m glad I did because even I left. Over the last few months, I said my goodbyes. I don’t need to miss anyone; I have Twitter and Instagram to keep in touch. I’m completely satisfied with the long distant friendship I have with Gina. Though, now that we only live half an hour away from one another, our steady texting has dwindled. Accessibility can do that.

No one wants too much advice in their life.

What would Gina say about Colt? The thought of telling her sort of makes my skin crawl. Not because she’d judge me but because she knows his real history. Their paths must have crossed at parties and school. I don’t want her perspective swaying my opinion. If he’s actually a great guy, I’ll feel even more rejected. Or if he’s a total dud, I’ll be the fool.

No. I’ll keep my little Colt adventure to myself. I should call Gina later to hear how she’s doing with Peter though. That must’ve taken off by now.

I slide between the fence rails and wash my hands off with the hose. I’m looking forward to work tomorrow where I can monitor the calves and find my grove with the feeding, watering and changing pasture routine of ranching. I’ve always loved that part. Dad would bring me out in the early morning to herd the cattle to new pasture while Mom worked on building her marketing firm back home.

There’s a ton of dead grass out there. Maybe Dad won’t even bother switching pastures. My gut twists. The earth is beyond parched. Could this drought really be the end to the ranch? Dad’s got to have a plan. The ranch has been in his family for generations. It’s survived worse than this… I think.

Then again, no one in our family history threw away their savings to lawyers, a kitchen, and a truck to win their daughter back. That’s a new twist, but so was Dad getting a divorce. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Sweat drips down my neck. It’s so hot here. I’m tempted to turn on the hose and spray my head, but I’m not that stupid. I probably shouldn’t have even washed my hands in it.

“Autumn,” a voice says softly behind me.

I startle, dropping my work gloves in the tiny puddle of water. Awesome, Colt.

I snatch the gloves off the ground and give a quick smile, pulling my shoulders back. This is the time to stand up straight, and shine with dignity. I am not a slut.

“Oh, hey.”

Translation: Yesterday was so not a big deal. Forget it ever happened.

“Can we talk?” he says. Clearly, he doesn’t speak girl.

I gaze toward the corral, but Dad and Todd aren't there. They must be in the barn. Crap. Dad totally would’ve rescued me from this. He’d managed to keep Colt assigned to opposite tasks from me all morning. He’s much more perceptive than I thought.

“No. We’re fine, okay?” I say as I slip the gloves back on. I should go count the cow sacs so Dad can know how many steer we’d be raising. It’s insane that counting chopped off cow balls is more appealing than speaking with a hot cowboy. “I’ve got to go count sacs.”

“There’re fifty-eight.” He nods towards the barn. “Your Dad had me count them while you were grabbing a water break.” He steps closer. “Does he know about yesterday?”

“God, no. I’d never tell him what happened.”

“Good. Trust me. He doesn’t want to know that stuff about you.”

My voice edges. “What… stuff?”

“Well, Dads have trouble imagining their daughter kissing a guy. Let alone-"

“Being a whore?” I wish I had a handful of cow sacks to smash in his face.

“No, Autumn. That’s not it. I swear to you.” He reaches out to touch my shoulder. I jerk away. I don’t need to know his reasoning. 

Thankfully, Dad shouts from inside the storage barn, “Colt, we need your help to move that dead John Deere mower.”

Colt groans. “He’s never going to leave me alone with you again, is he?”

“I hope not.”

Dad stands in front of the barn, arms crossed. Well, he’s definitely playing the protective Dad bit right. It’s possible he’s putting on a show though, so I’ll choose him. My brain pounds and there’s a nanosecond of dizziness. It’s hard to sort this all out. “What did you tell him?” Colt draws me back.

“We didn’t click. That’s it.”

Colt lifts his eyebrows. “Well, he knows more. Trust me. If we didn’t click, he wouldn’t work this hard to keep me from you.”

“That's not it. Him being over attentive has nothing to do with you and me.” 

Colt steps in closer. “What do you mean?”

“Colt!” Dad’s voice booms from behind the barn door.

I nod towards the barn. “Better go.”

“We’re not done talking,” Colt says before he jogs away. It wasn’t a question. He’s not letting this go.

***

I press the soaked sponge against Howdy’s coat and massage his muscles as I lather the shampoo. His body relaxes beneath my touch. His coat has dulled from the built-up sweat and dust from riding him again. I doubt he’s seen much pasture work as he’s aged, but he’s a good herder. He knows it too. A stray never escapes on his watch. Maybe that’s why Dad kept him. Or, maybe, like Mom’s boots, Dad’s not ready to let go. Either way, I’m glad he’s still here. Wherever Howdy is, is special to me.

I dip the sponge back into the pale, careful not to spill a drop. This’ll only be a two-bucket bath, one for suds and the other for rinsing.

My own body is sticky from sweat. It’s so frickin’ hot. When I was little, I’d nap after lunch in the summers, waiting for the heat to ease before we finished up the work for the day. But Dad’s inside with Todd and some dude from the bank, so I’m still out here. I’m not ready to hear the worst of it yet.

Howdy’s breathing deepens and stays in perfect rhythm. I glide my hand over his wet coat, petting him as I rinse the suds away. I peek around his head, discovering closed eyes. He’s sleeping. Poor guy. I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t push himself too hard. If he got injured because I wasn't attentive, I'd hate myself forever.

There are still a few inches of water left in the bucket of rinsing water. I scoop up a palm full and bring it to my face. The room temperature water lifts the grime off my cheek. My skin can finally breathe.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Colt’s voice disrupts my refreshing peace. He’s persistent; I’ll give him that. Might as well get this conversation over with. He probably could drag this out all summer if I don’t.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“Fine,” I unbind my hair to wrap it up in a top bun. “You’ve got two minutes.” A bale of hay becomes my throne, and I sit, awaiting his excuse.

“Well, if I only have two minutes, please forgive my bluntness."

I shrug. Bluntness uncovers the truth. I actually prefer it this way. If he offends me while being blunt, he would have offended me through polished words too. There’s no difference.

“You’re amazing.”

I fold my arms across my chest. Anyone could come up with that.

He continues, “You're not a slut. I don’t think that way, okay? I hate how you think I do.”

That’s not even worth a reply. It’s sad, he’s a poor tortured soul, but that route so isn’t going to work with me. He throws his hands in the air. He knows he’s not cracking me with that.

“You scare me,” he says.

I laugh but stop when his eye catches mine. There’s an intensity, that’s almost dangerous. He’s totally serious.

“I scare you?”

“Yes. More than you’ll ever understand.” He sits down next to me. “You see, I want to be different.”

I lift my brow. “How?”

“I dunno…. Then who I could be. Better, somehow?” 

“Better because?”

“I don’t want to take advantage of girls.”

A chortle escapes me. “You thought you were taking advantage of me? In what decade were you born? In case you hadn’t noticed, I was the one wanting to do
it
with you.”

“Trust me; your desire didn’t escape me. I can’t stop thinking about it.” He touches my cheek with his palm, “You drive me crazy Autumn, you know that?”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I shouldn’t have taken you to my room.”

“Yeah, but there’s nothing wrong with having sex if we both want it.”

“But” he sighs. “That’s just it. I don’t want it and I never should have put either of us in that situation.”

“It seemed like you wanted it. The way you kissed me..."

He takes a deep breath. “Promise me you won’t laugh or” he nudges me, “make that god awful goose noise?”

“I’ll try, and, for the record, I do not sound like a goose.”

“You do.…” He takes a deep breath. “Here’s the truth—I want to do this right. Find a committed relationship.”

“Like, marriage?”

“Ideally, yes.” He blushes as he sits next to me on the hay bale, picking at his work gloves. I stifle a laugh. I can’t make fun of him for that, but I don’t know what to say. That’s unheard of in the city. It’s like he lives in the ninetieth century.

“I’ve watched too many people be idiots at parties. Too many guys on the football team have lost their future because they knocked up their girlfriends.” He shrugs. “I’m a traditionalist. Marriage sounds like the right time for me.”

“Really?” I slide away an inch. He's insane.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants in their core?” he asks.

“Not me.” I can feel the rope of any relationship possibility sever between us. “Not after my parent’s divorce. It’s not worth it… not possible.”

“Yeah, divorce kind of ruins the dream, doesn’t it?”

“That’s just it. It’s a dream. Spending your life together with one person, forever? Staying in love? It’s not realistic.”

He shrugs, “I think it is. I’ve seen it. My parents, my grandparents.”

“I thought your mother was single?”

“She’s a widower.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It sucks. She misses him. Pops died in an accident.”

“What happened?” I dare to ask. It may be too personal, but so is everything on the table at the moment.

“Drunk driving,” he shakes his head. “One too many beers at the bar that night. He shouldn’t have tried to drive home. Thankfully, he didn’t take anyone down with him.”

“Is that why you had water in your cup at the party?”

“Yes. When it happens to someone you love, you don’t play around with it.”

There's this desperate look of sadness in the way he squints his eyes. I bite my lip. I wasn’t expecting a therapeutic bonding session. I thought I’d be telling him off, not helping him understand the truth.

“Colt, you know never drinking and saving yourself for marriage are extreme premature promises. How can you hold yourself to that?”

“The reasons are solid, but most of all, I want to. However, with you on top of me, I almost threw all resolve out the window.” His finger loops through a lock of hair that’s escaped my bun. “You have no idea how much I want you.”