The Stolen Suitor (5 page)

“Oh, not yet,” Ben said, unconcerned. “In a minute. Hey, Chris, you know Jeremy, right?”

“Sure. Hi, Jeremy.” Chris gave him a tight smile, as if he wasn’t happy to see Jeremy, but his eyes lingered as if he were.

“Did I hear you say you might join up with our adult ridin’ class?” Ben asked Chris.

“Yeah, I think I will. You know I’m, um….” Chris’s eyes shifted back to Jeremy for a moment and away again. “I’m seeing Trix Stubben, and I’d like to not completely embarrass myself when we go riding.”

“Oh Lord! That woman is half horse! Well, we can sure fix you up. If ya can’t learn to ride from me and Josh, here, ya can’t learn from anybody. And, hey, that’s nice that you’re seein’ Trix! Such a shame about John….”

Ben talked on about John Stubben, reminiscing about the way he and John had competed at the local rodeos, like the privileged sons of ranchers they were. But Jeremy stopped listening when Mrs. Rollingswell walked into the Merc.

Ordinarily, Jeremy would have slunk away and hid down another aisle, worked his way around to the door, and then slipped out of the store to avoid her. But he was in an actual conversation for once in his life, a four-way one, and he was pretty sure if he snuck off that would be rude. Or at least look stupid. He had to excuse himself, but with Ben talking on, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

Before he could interrupt, Mrs. Rollingswell spotted them. Her mouth pinched tight and her eyes got a dangerous fire. She marched toward them like an enraged mama bear.

For a moment Jeremy thought she was going to lay into Joshua and Ben, that it was a gay thing. And, Lord, he seriously did not want to witness that. He wanted to keep his idols pristine. But as she reached them, her evil eye was fixed squarely on
him.

“Jeremy Crassen!” she snapped, interrupting Ben’s monologue about some calf-roping event. Mrs. Rollingswell shouldered her way between Ben and Joshua to get closer.

“Oh, um, hey, Mrs.—”

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me!” she interrupted in her strictest teacher voice.

By now Ben had stopped talking, and he, Joshua, and Chris were all looking at Jeremy with puzzlement. Chris’s mouth was set in a distasteful line. Jeremy knew they all thought he’d done something awful. He was a Crassen, after all. He wracked his brain but couldn’t figure out why Mrs. Rollingswell was so mad. Had he screwed up her order at the diner?

“Chapter seventeen!” She rapped his arm with a catalog she carried in her hand. “I’ve been waiting on that thing for almost six months! How could you do that to me?”

“Oh. Uh….” Jeremy
had
been ignoring Mrs. Rollingswell. She’d called the house a dozen times. He’d written the end of the book months ago, but he wasn’t happy with it and needed to rewrite it before he’d let anyone see it. This was what he got for putting her off. This was what he got for asking her opinion on his book in the first place.

“And after all that time I spent on the first sixteen chapters! Not that it was any hardship, but I did give you a lot of notes, didn’t I? I hope they were helpful. And commas! Dear boy, I’m ashamed I was your English teacher for two years!”

“Yeah.” Jeremy shrank in on himself, his shoulders slouching. “I’m not so good at—”

“But for gosh sake, I have to know how it ends! It’s just not right, Jeremy. If you ask someone to edit a book, at least have the decency not to leave them hanging on the last chapter!”

Mrs. Rollingswell seemed truly put out about it. Her brown eyes, behind her huge glasses, were glaring.

The three other guys were all staring at him like he’d grown another head. Jeremy honestly wished he’d been mildly injured in a car accident that morning, had a run-in with an escaped lion, or anything that would have allowed him not to have been in the Merc at this moment in time.

“I’m still working on it,” Jeremy whispered. He looked down at the floor, and one side of his hair came loose and hung in his face. Gary Prince was MIA.

“Well, I hope you’ll send it to me as soon as you’re done! But listen to me, going on! And here I am standing with the finest young men in Clyde’s Corner. Chris. Ben. Joshua. Nice to see you boys.”

They all returned the greeting with utmost respect while Jeremy stared at his shoes, his hair in his face.

“What a coincidence this is,” Mrs. Rollingswell went on. “Why, right here together are the quietest student I ever had, the loudest, the best dressed, and the smartest. I should take a picture!”

“‘’Scuse me,” Jeremy muttered. “I have to get to work.” He knew it was obvious he was lying, but he needed badly to escape. He turned on his heel and went down the aisle and around, and finally made it out the front door of the Merc.

THE
quietest student I ever had, the loudest, the best dressed, and the smartest
.

Chris chewed over the words after Ben and Joshua left and Mrs. Rollingswell got on with her shopping. He had no doubt which one he was. He’d always gotten teased in school about being such a snappy dresser.
Chris-a-doodle-doo
. Cock of the walk. But the teasing had been good-natured and, as far as Chris was concerned, flattering. He was fine with being known for taking care of his appearance. It sure as hell beat the alternative. And Clyde’s Corner was such a cow town, it wasn’t difficult to stand above the herd, so to speak. He took pride in it.

Nor was there any doubt that “the loudest” was Ben Rivers.

But which was the quietest and which the smartest? Joshua was certainly no talker, but neither was Jeremy. And what was all that about chapter seventeen? It almost sounded like Jeremy was writing a book. Seriously?

Chris tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. What difference did it make? He wasn’t curious about Jeremy Crassen.

Okay, he was curious about Jeremy. Curious was not the same thing as interested. But it was weird how even the name “Jeremy Crassen” had taken on a strange weight in his mind, like Jeremy was significant.

He
wasn’t
, and that was that.

Mrs. Rollingswell came up to the register with a small basket containing Chunky Monkey ice cream, gummy bears, green apples, diet cocoa mix, and a tube of Preparation H.

Funny how much you got to know about people in this town when you worked the checkout lane at the Merc.

Mrs. Rollingswell had a worried look on her face, her eyes distant in thought.

“Find everything okay?” Chris asked as he ran her purchases over the scanner.

She blinked at him. “What? Oh, yes, of course! Lord knows I’ve shopped here so long I could probably do it blindfolded.”

Chris smiled. “We appreciate your loyalty.”

She hummed, her thoughts obviously distracted. “You know, I’ve been a teacher for twenty years. The hardest thing is to accept the things you can change and the things you can’t.”

“Oh?” Chris weighed the apples.

“I just think it’s such a gosh-darn shame when truly gifted students can’t afford to go to college—and their families make no effort to support or encourage them! Meanwhile, so many kids go off to school on their family’s dime and waste that opportunity by partying every night and then doing nothing with their degree when they get it! It’s just a certified tragedy, that’s all.”

Chris felt his hackles rise and a sick feeling of anger burn in his gut. “I did do something with my marketing degree, Mrs. Rollingswell. I worked for three years in—”

“Oh, no!” She put a hand over her mouth, horrified. “Oh, dear! I didn’t mean you, Chris! Why, I hope you know me better than to think I’d ever insult a student to their face. No, dear, I was just talking generally. Oh, my. I’m sure it’s a tremendous challenge to run the most important store in town, and you’ve always been so good with making things look nice! I can see the improvements you’ve made here already. Why, I’m tickled pink you’re back in town, and of course I’m proud as the dickens that you got your degree!”

Now Chris felt foolish for overreacting. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… well, it doesn’t matter. Thank you.” He slid the bag with her groceries toward her on the counter and roused an apologetic smile.

She touched his hand, her eyes warm. “You were always a good boy, Chris. Never bullied others who were less fortunate. Students think teachers don’t see those things, but we do.” She patted his hand twice. “You take care now.”

And with that Mrs. Rollingswell took her bag and walked out of the store, leaving a dozen questions behind.

Chris’s dad came hobbling up to the register on his crutches. He was dressed in sweats, which he never wore in the storefront. His ruddy face looked pained.

“Dad, what are you doing up? You’re supposed to keep that knee elevated.”

His father grimaced. “Just came down to get some cranberry juice.”

“You could have texted me. I’d’ve brought some up.”

They’d lived in the two floors above the Merc since Chris had been born. It was a large space, and the old building boasted high ceilings and crown moldings. Chris’s mom had done it up real homey. Chris, an only child, had had his own bedroom
and
a large playroom. But its location right above the store was often more curse than blessing.

“Did I see Joshua Braintree’s truck out front? He and Ben were in?” his dad asked casually.

Ah. That explained the juice run. “Yes, they were.”

His dad huffed disapprovingly. “Don’t encourage them to hang out here. I’ve never refused service to anyone, but they don’t need to become a fixture.”

“Like they have time for that!” The men in town who
did
hang out on the front benches had not a single job among them.

“The only reason they get away with livin’ like they do is the Braintree and Rivers names. If they weren’t from two of the finest ranchin’ families in this valley, the town wouldn’t stand for it.”

Chris had given up arguing with his father about homosexuality long ago, but he couldn’t help but speak his mind now. “You don’t know that, Dad. They’re good men. Not everyone is as narrow-minded about being gay as you are.”

In truth, Chris had been shocked to come home from Denver and learn that Joshua Braintree and Ben Rivers had hooked up and were now running Muddy River Ranch together. As a couple. You could have knocked him sideways with a smile. Not only were they two of the best-looking men in the valley, but Joshua, at least, had always seemed one of the most masculine. Ben… well, he always had been a cheeky little flirt with just about everyone.

Chris was happy for them, when he could shove his envy out of the way. But even they didn’t have a pain-free time of it. His dad wasn’t the only one who talked about them when they weren’t around.

“Imagine if I were queer!” his dad went on sarcastically. “You can just guess the line of folks waitin’ to shop in my store.”

It was a very deliberate dig—and a warning. But Chris didn’t rise to the bait. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said blithely. “You might have all the women coming in for makeup and dress advice.”

His dad actually laughed. “Yeah, right.” He took on a more serious tone. “Just sayin’… you’re doin’ good, Chris. Don’t get sidetracked.”

His dad gave him a meaningful look and hobbled off to the juice case.

Chris could have gotten into it with his dad, but what was the point? He wasn’t dating Trix for his father’s sake. He supposed he should just be grateful his dad approved and let the rest of it go. Berk Ramsey would never change, and neither would Clyde’s Corner.

Then he thought about Joshua and Ben and the people in town who
did
support them. Maybe Clyde’s Corner was changing a little after all.

ERIC
Crassen stopped his truck just before the driveway to Big Basin Ranch and did a self-check. He smoothed the fabric of his best denim shirt over his chest, examined his silver belt buckle to make sure it was still as shiny as he’d buffed it to be that morning, checked the bottom of his boots for dog poo, sniffed his pits, and, lastly, looked at his face in the rearview mirror.

He could hardly believe he was already twenty-five. Dear Lord, his life was evaporating before his eyes. But even though he felt old, his looks hadn’t started to go yet. He rubbed his hand over his jaw. He’d shaved special last night so this morning he’d have just the amount of stubble girls seemed to like the most—a dark shadow that roughened up his face, but not enough to hide the dimple in his chin. His lips looked soft from the Chapstick he’d put on that morning, and his blue eyes weren’t bloodshot for once. He’d not drunk a drop either, paranoid the smell would be on him. He’d put the cigarettes down a week ago, and the pot too.

He ruffled up his red-brown hair. Unlike Jeremy, he actually cut his hair. It was getting to be summer now, and he kept it shorter for the heat but long enough to get that just-out-of-bed look.

Normally Eric had no problem approaching any girl. But this was Trix Stubben. Even though she’d been a year behind him in school, it seemed like she was way older. She’d been a wife and mother and run a serious business like Big Basin, while he’d basically pissed away the past seven years since graduation. The very thought of her had a way of knocking him down so’s he felt about a foot high.

Determined to get on with it, he eased the truck out of park, drove on down the road, and pulled into Big Basin Ranch.

The ranch looked like a place you’d go for camp or a retreat, all upscale Montana. There was a split-rail fence running along the road. Above the entrance to the smooth gravel driveway was a sign done in a classy, log cabin style that read “Big Basin.” And small, in the corner, “Prop. John and Trixie Stubben.”

Eric recalled when that sign had read “Prop. Billy and Polly Stubben,” John’s parents. And the thought of it someday soon being repainted to read something else, like “Chris and Trix,” made him clench up tight.

His ma was right: Trix surely would remarry. What were the odds that his name would ever be on that sign, linked in life to Trix Stubben? Unlikely as a snowstorm in July, he reckoned. But it sure was nice to imagine all the same. Trix had been with John so long, no one else had ever gotten a chance. As Ma had reminded him, that was no longer the case.