Serenity Falls (11 page)

He
looks at me through the corners of his eyes with his eyebrow arched. Wes clears
his throat before answering, “I’ve been better.”

I
nod, hoping that he understands I’m on the same level of discomfort as he. “So,
is this where you ran off to earlier?”

“Yeah.
Look, I know you heard me and Brantley talking earlier.”

“I
did, but I want you to know that what he said doesn’t affect me.”

“He
has a point, you know,” Wes replies, as he gets up and comes to sit down next
to me. He consumes my attention as I watch him take a drink of his beer. I have
to focus on something other than the way his throat muscles move as he
swallows, because if I don’t, I just might throw my self-control right out the
window.

When
I think back to what he just said, it kind of pisses me off. “Don’t do that.
Don’t downplay yourself with me,” I say, taking a bite of my pork chop. “Oh…
my… Wes, this is so good.” I lift the napkin he handed me earlier, wiping the
corners of my mouth. “Did you make all this?” I ask.

“I
did,” he says, around a mouthful of food. “You like it, really?” The look on
his face brings a smile to mine and helps to curb my anger that was beginning
to grow. It’s as if he can’t believe that I might actually like something he
made.

“Heck
yeah I do. Everything tastes delicious.”

“Back
to what I was talking about. You should know I live a fast life, Kenleigh. I’m
not going to lie to you. I’m not even going to try to deny what he said back in
the barn as something false.”

“Maybe
you do, but you’re here, now. Do you like your life in Dallas?”

“I
used to think I did. Not so much anymore. For the past year now, I’ve slowly
started recognizing that I’m on a downward spiral. Like I’m almost at the point
of drowning, but somehow I’m still just barely breathing.” He looks away from
me like he’s ashamed of himself or like I might judge him.

“Wes?
Please, don’t hide from me. I am no one to judge you or your past. But I would
like to know what you mean.”

“I
took this season off from bull riding. Last year, I got into a lot of trouble.
I was drinking all the time. At first, it started out as a social thing, but
then it began happening more and more. It eventually got to the point where I
would black out. Every morning, I’d wake up, and wouldn’t know what had
happened. The worst part was there was always some different woman in bed with
me, if I even made it to bed.” When he turns and looks at me, all I see is
remorse in his eyes.

“You
don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I offer.

He
shakes his head. “I need to. I want you to know me just like I want to know
you.”

With
a nod, I sit patiently and wait for him to continue.

“The
last night I really drank anything was the worst. That is when I succumbed to
the fact that I really did have a problem. I had just got done riding. There is
nothing like being on the back of a bull. It’s a high I just can’t explain.” A
wistful smile pulls at his lips. “When you have a two thousand pound, pissed
off beast underneath you, and the only thing helping you hold on is a rope,
it’s a rush you just can’t get from anything else. No drug on this Earth can
give you that feeling. Anyway,” he rakes his fingers through his hair as he
sighs before he continues, “that night was the best night of my life. It was
the best ride of my life; it was the first time I ever won five million
dollars. I’ve won money in previous rides, but never in the millions range.”

I
never envisioned that professional bull riders actually made that much. Money
has always been offered as a prize, but I never envisioned it could be that
much. “Wow. I didn’t know that you were
that
good. I mean… I didn’t...
That came out all wrong.” I shake my head sheepishly.

He
chuckles at my chagrin. “I know what you meant. And not to sound conceited or
anything, but I gave up my spot in the Professional Bull Riding world finals in
Las Vegas this year. My manager advised against it. He told me I was throwing
my career down the drain, and that I would never get another opportunity like
this.”

“Do
you regret the decision you made by coming here?”

“No.
As I was saying, that night was the best and worst night of my life. Yeah, I
rode great, and opportunities that I never imagined came knocking on my door.
But I also got arrested that night, too,” he mutters softly. “I met up with
some people from earlier in the night, and we went to an after party. After I
got rip-roaring drunk, I wanted to leave, but everyone else decided to stay
behind. That’s the last thing I remember. The next morning, I woke up in jail.
The worst part is, I don’t even remember how I got there. I had bruises on my
hands, but I figured it was from the previous night’s ride. The police had to
show me the surveillance videos for me to actually believe it.”

With
my curiosity peaked, I ask, “What did you do?”

He
drops his head in only what I can imagine is shame. “I busted out the
windshield of someone’s car with a bottle of Jack Daniels. I can still see it
running on constant replay in my mind. My fists were raised high in the air as
I beat the shit out of the hood of the car. The dents looked like it had rained
down softball-sized hailstones. It wasn’t like someone pissed me off, and I
took it out on their car instead of their face; I didn’t even know the person
in that video.” He lifts head and takes a drink of his beer. “I was charged
with destruction of personal property that morning. After I saw the Judge and
my bail was set, I had to call my parents for them to bail me out. Mind you, I
used my own money, but they were the ones who had to come and do it. They were
so pissed at me when I explained to them what happened. But what really broke
me was when I saw the disappointment written on both of their faces.”

This
is so much to take in right now. Wes makes millions doing what he loves. He has
a drinking problem. That much is obvious. And here he sits, drinking a beer. He
destroyed somebody’s vehicle for no reason other than the fact that he was
drunk. And now he has a criminal record that will follow him around for the
rest of his life. Then I think back to the first night that I met him. He was
drinking that night. “If you have a drinking problem, why did you drink the
first night that we met at the bonfire, and why are you drinking now?”

He
nods his head as if he knew that question was coming. “I’ve learned to control
it. I no longer drink hard liquor and only limit myself to two or three beers
at most. My mom and dad know this. They don’t like it, but they also know I
never want to be the one to disappoint them again.”

The
quiet around us builds as we sit there. Can someone who has a drinking problem
be okay with having only a couple of drinks and not suffer a relapse? Is it
possible to control that lingering urge? Does one ever really recover from
drinking?

“I
know you have to have some kind of questions.” The raw vulnerability in his
tone catches me off guard. From what I know and have seen of Wes, vulnerability
is not an emotion I ever thought I’d see in him.

“Huh?
What... No… How long ago did this happen?” I stammer out.

“Last
summer. My parents thought it would be a good idea for me to come home then,
but I told them how I got myself into this mess and I would have to be the one
to fix it. I quit going to after parties. Hanging out with everyone afterwards
was just too tempting. The night of the bonfire, your first night here, that’s
the first drink I’ve had since before I came home.” He takes a deep breath
before looking at me. “Trust me; I get it if you don’t want to hang out with me
anymore. I’m not exactly a good guy.”

Right
now, I have a choice. I can walk away from what we’re building, from this
amazing connection, or I can stick it out and explore this further. He’s given
me a decision to make, and God, I hope it’s the right one, but I do have one
question. “You’re not a bad guy either, Wes. You’re human. We all make
mistakes. It’s whether we learn from them that will determine just how good and
bad we all are. But I am a little confused as to why your life took that kind
of turn? I mean, your parents are great, so I can only assume you had a pretty
good childhood.”

He
nods in understanding. “I did. I had a great childhood, but my dad and I
weren’t as close as we are now. He was strict. It was always focus on school,
4H, bull riding, and the ranch. There was always so much pressure put on me
from him.” He takes a deep breath before adding. “And in turn, I put a lot of
pressure on myself by trying my damndest to be the man he wanted me to be. I’m
the only child my parents have. I never wanted to be a disappointment to them,
but in the end, I turned out that way, anyhow. As soon as I left the ranch, I
went crazy with drinking and partying, which led to sleeping with women I
didn’t even know. After everything that happened, it’s the reason I’m taking a
break from life… my life in Dallas. I need to get my shit straight before I
return. I want to be a person my parents are proud of.”

I
reach out with both hands and cup his cheeks as I make him look at me. At the
contact, he turns into my touch and kisses my palm. “Nobody’s perfect, Wes.
Some mess up more than others do, but that’s life. You’ve made your choices and
survived the consequences. People can change. I’ve seen it happen. And you are
not a disappointment, so please, never say that again,” I reply softly as I
lean into him.

“You
have a lot of faith in someone you barely know,” he replies. Wes’ eyes search
mine as I kiss his cheek.

“Everyone
deserves someone having some type of faith in them. You
can
change, Wes,
but you have to want to, and you have to want to do it for yourself.”

“I
know.”

“See,
you’ve already taken the first step.”

“Thank
you for believing in me,” he mumbles softly against my lips. Wes changes the
subject and asks, “So, what brought you out here last summer?”

I
shrug my shoulders and take a drink of my beer. “I used to suffer from
depression when I was a kid, and my Aunt practically forced me into learning
how to horseback ride.” And now it’s my turn to look away from him and out the
windows of the tree house.

“So,
that’s why you take to the horses so well and them to you,” he says as if he’s
putting the pieces of a puzzle together.

My
gaze swings his direction. Normally when I talk about how I suffered from
depression, people ask all sorts of questions. What made you fall into a
depression to begin with? Don’t you still suffer from depression? What kind of
medication did you take when you were suffering? I can understand people’s
curiosity, but after a while, the same repetitive questions begin to become mundane
and annoying. I answer truthfully. “It’s the best thing my Aunt ever did for
me. I didn’t want to be on medication, and she didn’t want me on it either.
When I started to learn how to horseback ride, it was my escape from the past,
present, and future. It’s like how people run and their brain just switches
off. Horseback riding does the same thing for me.”

“Is
being here at the ranch kind of like your way of paying it forward then?”

“I
never thought of it like that, but yeah, I guess it is. I might not suffer from
the same diseases or disabilities that the kids that come to Operation Love do,
but I have suffered, and the smile that I see on their faces makes me feel
genuinely happy. It’s like nothing else matters for them, except the here and
now. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I love the kids that come here,
and I love seeing the bonds they build with the horses. In a way, it’s like I
can see myself through their eyes,” I answer.

“Are
you happy now?”

I
thought so, until you came along.

My
eyes search his face. They move over the contours of this Adonis who sits in
front of me. I can’t think of one single reason for me not to be happy now.
I’ve been getting better with each day that passes. And sitting here staring at
Wes, I can’t help but think how much happier I can get. “I am.”

He
places his arm over my shoulders and tucks me into his side as he whispers
against my temple. “Good.”

A
couple of nights ago in the treehouse, we talked until the sun began to rise.
Wes told me about how he came into professional bull riding. It all started
when he was a part of the 4-H program in his elementary school. At the age of
eight, he started raising a calf. By the time he was ten, he’d won first place.
He collected his first blue ribbon when he sold that same calf. After that, as
Wes grew older, he traveled out to different ranches and help herd cattle. One
day, his friend Reid dared him to jump on the bare back of a bull, and the rest
was history.

I
told him about my life in Conroe. How I grew up living with my aunt. He didn’t
ask questions about my parents, where they were, or why I didn’t live with
them. He just sat and listened intently. I told him about how the ranch owner
where I rode horses approached me about learning how to barrel race. Jim, the
owner, told me how he had never seen his horses trust someone the way they
trusted me. After his proposal, my mind pondered the idea. I didn’t want to
race horses professionally, so, of course, I declined his offer. The connection
I shared with them was just fine by me. Now, I look back and wonder if I could
have gone through with it. Maybe if I had taken Jim up on his offer, I would
have met Wes before now.

“Will
you sit and talk with me?” Mrs. Sandy asks as we finish drying the dishes from
dinner. “I miss our little talks.” She smiles and nudges me in the arm with her
elbow.

“Me
too.” I return her smile as I hang the damp dishtowel over the handle on the
stove. I ask Mrs. Sandy, who’s already sitting at the table doing something on
her phone, “Would you like some tea?”

“Huh?”
She looks away from her phone and turns her attention to me.

“Tea?”
I hold a glass up in the air.

“Oh
yeah. That would be great.”

I
open the fridge door to retrieve the pitcher of sweet tea, pour us each a glass
before I set the pitcher aside, and head over to the table. As I pull out my
chair and take a seat, she says, “So are you excited about the upcoming week?
You know, with the kids coming and all?”

My
lips turn up in a smile at her question. “I am. I honestly can’t wait to see
the kids again.”

“I
know what you mean. I can’t wait to see all of their smiling faces. I don’t
know if Wes has mentioned to you why we started Operation Love.” A distant look
crosses her face as she looks down into her glass of tea.

I
nod. “He told me a little bit. I think Colt would be really proud of y’all for
doing this in his honor.”

She
laughs a small laugh and takes a drink of her tea. “Those boys were inseparable
when they were around each other. When they were kids, they would chase each
other around this big ol’ house playing cowboys and Indians. If you would’ve
seen them together, you would have never guessed they were cousins. They were
more like brothers than anything else. Colt got sick often, but no matter what,
he always seemed to pull himself right out of it. Come out stronger than the
time before. Then, the last time he got sick, we all knew he wasn’t gonna pull
through it. He even knew it. Wes, the stubborn boy he was, still is, didn’t
believe it, and refused to accept it.”

I
reach out, cover her hand with mine, and offer my support as tears glide down
her face. “When Colt died, he took a little piece of Wes with him. He lost that
spark in his eyes. He would take off on one of the horses for hours at a time,
and just disappear. Wes wouldn’t even attend the funeral. Will and I pleaded
with him to go, told him he needed the closure, but he shut down. He shut
everyone and everything out. After a while, he started coming back around, you
know, becoming himself again, but not
really
himself.”

“I
do.” I think I might know just as well as the next person who’s lost someone
dear to them. A small piece of you will always be missing; you’ll never truly
be whole again.

“When
he took up bull riding, his father and I thought,
finally
. We could tell
he loved it. He practiced for hours on end, but we never really saw that same
spark again. Until he came here and met you,” she whispers as she cups her hand
over mine and looks me in the eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on between you
and my son, or if anything at all is going on between y’all. But you should
know that I can see that spark reigniting in his eyes again. I will admit that
I’ve been talking about you to him for the past year.”

“I
kind of figured that,” I reply with an easy smile.

“You’re
special, Kenleigh. People gravitate toward you. The kids that come here love
you. Hell, we all love you. Your presence alone can bring a smile to anyone’s
face. I know you have been faced with the pits of despair, but you fought your
way out.”

I
nod in acknowledgement of how right she is. There was a time when I was in the
deepest depths of my depression, and thought I couldn’t go on, but I fought—I
fought hard to find me again.

“You’re
good for my boy, and I believe he’s good for you, too,” she says earnestly.

“Thank
you.” I push my chair back and stand before I lean down and wrap my arms around
her shoulders, enveloping her in a hug. “Thank you so much for those kind words,”
I whisper.

“Oh,
honey, I didn’t say any of that just to say it. I meant every word,” she
whispers in return, as she pats my back in comfort.

Just
as I pull back, Wes walks in. He takes in Mrs. Sandy and me sitting at the
table. Her cheeks are blotchy from crying, and I’m wearing an easy smile. His
eyebrows point down in confusion. “Is everything all right? Did I walk in on
something I shouldn’t have?” he asks as he looks from me to his mother.

“No,”
Mrs. Sandy answers. “We were just having some girl talk.”

He
walks over to his mom, wraps an arm around her shoulders, and asks while
looking directly at me, “Do you mind if I steal Kenleigh away for a while?”

She
smiles broadly at me. “Not at all. You two kids go and have some fun.”

“Thanks,
Mom.” He smiles down at her and squeezes her to him before he kisses the top of
her head, showing her affection that only a son can. “Wanna get out of here?”
he asks.

I
smile and nod at him. “Sure.” My eyes turn to Mrs. Sandy. “Can we finish our
talk later?” I ask.

She
waves her hand in dismissal. “Later. Now, you two go and get out of here,” she
says, standing from her seat.

I
pick up my glass and take a drink of my tea as I walk toward the sink to dump
the remnants out.

“Ready?”
Wes asks, as I rinse my glass out.

“Yep.”

“So,
where are we going?” I ask as we walk behind the barn.

“Over
there,” he says, pointing toward an old Chevy pickup truck. The paint is a
faded blue color, weathered from the sun. Spots of rust speckle the front and
back chrome bumpers. As we walk around the front of the truck, the word
Silverado comes into view.

“What
year is this?” I ask as he opens the passenger door for me. I climb in and
smooth out my navy blue, strapless dress. The heavy metal of the door groans at
the hinges as he closes it behind me. The inside is not too bad. The dark blue,
leather, bench seat has minor cracks in it, probably from the blistering Texas
heat. My eyes flash to the dashboard and semi-new stereo, complete with an
audio input. Nothing in this truck is electric, and I love it. The windows roll
down manually, and it takes me to a time when I would ride with my dad in a
truck similar to this one. Good memories come rushing back to me.

“You
all set to go fishin’?” asks my dad.

I
turn in my seat, looking up at him. “I can’t wait!” I squeal with joy as my dad
starts his newly remodeled 1980 Chevy Silverado. When he bought this truck, we
were the only ones who saw the potential it held. It was covered in rust, and
more than half of the parts needed to be replaced. Momma thought we were crazy,
but it was our thing. Daddy and I would fix them up together. Actually, he
fixed it while I watched, handing him a tool every now and then.

“You
remembered to get the lures, didn’t you?” he asks, pulling the gear shifter
down and into reverse.

“You
think I’d forget? I like fishing almost as much as you do, Dad.”

“I
was just checkin’. And you are my child, so of course, I knew you’d love
fishing,” he replies, edging out of our driveway with a smile.

I
lean forward on the newly upholstered, black leather, bench seat and roll down
the window. As I lean back, the sun bounces off the polished black paint,
blinding me momentarily. I rest my head on the back of the seat and look over
at my dad. “You know, I think I just might catch more than you today.”

“Oh,
yeah? And what makes you think that?” he asks with a smirk and raised eyebrow.

My
arm goes out the window and waves back and forth in the wind as we travel
toward the lake. “Because I also brought some worms that I dug up out of Momma’s
garden. It’s a fish’s delicacy,” I say with a matter of fact.

“I’m
so gonna tell on you,” my dad teases as he reaches over, grabs my knee, and
begins tickling me.

I
shriek in laughter from his assault. “I won’t share with you if you don’t
stop.”

Immediately
his hand is gone, and I’m left trying to catch my breath. “We wouldn’t want
that, now would we,” my dad says playfully.

A
sudden pop jolts me out of my daydream. “What was that?” I ask, looking all
around us for the sudden, loud sound.

“The
truck just backfired,” Wes answers with a chuckle. “It’s an old truck and
hardly ever gets used.”

My
face grows red with embarrassment. “Oh.”

“You
seemed a little lost there for a few minutes.” He reaches for my hand and
gently squeezes it.

I
look up at him and take in his curious expression. A slow smile spreads across
my face. “Nope. Not lost. Just reminiscing.”

Wes’
hand slides to my thigh and he pulls me across the bench seat. As I nuzzle into
the crook of his shoulder, he drapes his arm over the back of the seat. I reach
up and interlace our fingers which brings his arm down to drape over my
shoulder. When I look up at him, our gazes lock. He leans in and whispers
against my lips, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not
right now.” I shake my head. “Right now is just about you and me, and this
awesome sunset.” Lightly, I brush my lips against his. “So, where ya takin’
me?”

“It’s
a surprise, but can you plug this in for me?” he asks as he hands me his iPod.

We
drive along the rolling hills, out to where, I’m not sure. Wes likes to keep
where he takes me under wraps I’ve noticed. Honestly, after last night at the
tree house, he can keep where we go a secret all he wants. No one has ever done
anything like that for me before. He is so sweet and completely romantic. If he
hadn’t hooked me in the barn when we were on the bale of hay, then he, for
sure, would have reeled me in last night.

I
scroll through his playlist of old and new country mixed. The perfect song
jumps out at me, and I can’t help but think of Wes when I press play. With my
bare feet propped up on the dashboard, they bounce in time with Joe Diffie’s
Pick
Up Man
as it comes through the speakers of the old beat up truck. As we
cruise along the side of the creek, birds fly above, the clouds move at a slow,
steady pace, and the truck bounces and jostles me around in the cab from
hitting bumps in the terrain. But I know I’m not going anywhere. Wes has me
tucked in the crook of his shoulder, holding me securely to his side.