What It Takes (A Dirt Road Love Story)

by Sonya Loveday

  I forced myself not to roll my eyes at his stupid, clichéd pick-up line.

  “Oh my goodness, who do we have here? Is that you, Slade?” I cringed at the high-pitched, overly sweetened sound.

  Tiffany Wilson, my long-time ex, gripped my arm, spinning Gracen and me around to face her. When our legs parted, Gracen rolled her eyes at Tiffany before turning and starting her conversation back up with the bartender in order to drown out Tiffany’s voice.

  There was bad blood between the two of them… had been since Gracen found Tiffany in my bed one morning when she popped by to see if I wanted to go fishing. After that, Gracen pulled away from me. And Tiffany clung even harder until I’d felt so suffocated I ended our relationship.

  It had been the breakup from hell, too, because Tiffany wasn’t ready to give me up. She’d screamed at me so loud her voice pitched to the level only dogs could hear when I told her it was over. It had been messy. Ugly.

  After calling me every name in the book, she’d resorted to tears. When those didn’t work, she threw things at me. An empty feed bucket, a shovel, and a horseshoe were aimed at the direction of my head before she stormed off, leaving me in peace.

  Gracen had witnessed the end of her outburst from the shade of the old oak tree between the barn and her place. She’d waited until Tiffany stormed over to her little red sports car before approaching her. I had no idea what Gracen said, but after that, Tiffany never came back. I’d asked Gracen when she met me in the barn, after Tiffany peeled away and left a plume of dust behind her, but all Gracen said was, “Fine day for fishin’,” and then grabbed our poles from the tack room. We never talked about Tiffany again. And I was okay with that.

  If only I were back at the ranch and not cornered on a barstool only feet away from the ex from hell.

  “What brings you out on a Wednesday night, Slade? Lookin’ for a little fun?” Tiffany purred as she leaned in, putting her hand on my chest and brushing her double-D breasts against my arm.

  I pulled back, tipping my head to Gracen. “I’m here with Gracen to celebrate her birthday.”

  Tiffany smirked. “Looks like she’s found a willing body to celebrate it with. I could go with some celebratin’ myself.”

  Before I could squirm in my seat, Gracen turned with a sultry laugh and ran her hand up my leg. “Now why in the world would he want to do that when he’s here with me?”

  I went instantly hard.

  Gracen’s voice, and the touch of her fingers, made swallowing next to impossible.

  Tiffany, not to be outdone, hit Gracen with the only thing in her arsenal. “You might be here with him, but I know you haven’t slept together.”

  Gracen snorted. “Think whatever you like, Tiffany, as long as you do it away from us.”

  Tiffany’s eyes skipped between Gracen and me. “Oh, it’s not what I think—it’s what I know. And let me give you some advice, honey. If you two were tearin’ up the sheets, you damn sure wouldn’t be flirting with the bartender.”

  She winked at me, turning her back on Gracen. “She has no idea what you like, but I do. Come home with me, cowboy, and I’ll take real good care of you.”

  No way in hell. “Not interested.”

  Tiffany stiffened. “Your loss.”

  My indifference was enough to make her walk away, but not before she called me an asshole in parting.

  I snagged Gracen’s hand. “You wanna dance?”

  Gracen chuckled as I led her to the dance floor, dragging her off to a corner so we weren’t in the way of the line dancers before pulling her against my chest.

  “Better to spin me around the dance floor than bail me out of jail?” she asked, burying her nose against my shoulder, laughing hard enough to shake the both of us.

  “I’m glad you got a kick out of that,” I said, dipping my head to snuggle it into the crook of her neck.

  She shivered against me. “What a bitch. I don’t know what you ever saw in her. “

  “That makes two of us,” I answered, sweeping her into a turn that made her giggle.

  I loved hearing her laugh, so I did it again.

  She swayed into me. “I’m gonna miss you when you leave.” A flicker of sadness shadowed her eyes when she said it.

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be having fun tonight.”

  She pushed back a little to look up at me. “I am. I just… I know you’ll be gone this time next week, and it makes me sad to know you won’t be within shouting distance anymore.”

  We were swaying side to side when she hit me with that freight train. I’d taken the job because I knew it would only be a matter of time before someone stepped in and swept her off her feet. I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. Distance was needed so we could grow into who we were meant to be. But damn it all if it didn’t feel like I’d be leaving most of myself behind when it came time to leave.

  Montana seemed like the answer. It was far enough away to give each of us the space we needed in order to live our lives as they were meant to be lived, but still allow us to be friends.

  “You’re not trying to back out of this weekend already, are you?” Gracen asked, hooking her hand over my shoulder and giving me a shake.

  “No, I’m not backing out. I even have it on my calendar.” I smirked at her.

  She squinted back at me. “Oh, really? And what exactly does it say on your calendar?”

  My smirk turned into a full-blown smile. “Nothing major. I only circled it like a million times and wrote in big, bold, red letters ‘OUT FISH GRACEN’.

  She tipped her head back, letting out a belting laugh loud enough to turn heads. “You can try, Slade. But you know as well as I do, I always out fish you.”

  “Can’t even get a sympathy win. Damn, Gray, that’s just mean.” I shook my head, pulling our linked hands up to my heart and rubbing them against my shirt.

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m ready for another drink. You?” she asked, stepping out of my arms.

  Gracen had never really been a drinker. Even back in her hell-raising high school days. When she listed sideways on her barstool, I knew she’d had more than she should have.

  “Come on, birthday girl. Time to go,” I said, putting my hand out for her to take.

  The goofiest smile spread across her face as her hand went out, searching the air to the left of mine.

  Getting her off the barstool had been the easiest part. It was almost comical to watch as she tried in vain to find some sort of balance. There was no way she’d make it to my truck with those heels.

  Somewhere in her alcohol-fogged brain, she must have known it, too, because she kicked them off and then face-planted into my chest with a giggle.

  A least she was a happy drunk.

  “Ready when you are,” she mumbled against my shirt.

  Gracen was in no shape to walk. Period. So I did what I told her I’d do if she was too drunk to walk out on her own.

  I was sure we made one hell of a picture as we left—her ass in the air over my shoulder like a sack of feed and her heels in my hand. Leaving without notice didn’t happen either. From somewhere behind us, someone made a lewd comment that ended in a bellowed round-up cattle call.

  Instead of embarrassing Gracen, it brought her to life. Her elbows dug into my back as she joined in on their fun by giving her own sort of drunk battle cry. The jerky movements jostled the both of us hard enough that she was dangerously close to slipping off my shoulder. Slapping my hand right on her ass, I left it there to keep her in place.

  “Keep that up, cowboy, and you might just get lucky tonight,” Gracen said, wiggling her ass under my hand.

  “Don’t make promises you won’t keep, Gracen,” I answered, ready to put some space between us before I did something stupid.

  “What promise?” Gracen slurred as she tried to twist around. An impossible feat with the way I had ahold of her.

  “Never mind, Gray. And would you stop squirming? You’re gonna pitch us right off the damn
sidewalk,” I said, gripping her a little tighter.

  “Well, you try being carried upside…” She hiccupped hard and then continued, “Upside down and see how it…” Hiccup. “See how it feels.” Hiccup. “Damn that hu-hiccup.”

  “Please don’t puke down the back of my shirt. We’re almost to the truck,” I said, hoping we’d make it there in time.

  “I won’t. I promise. See! That’s a promise! Not like before when you said I promised something when I didn’t promise anything. In fact…”

  Her body jerked, and I stumbled.

  “Damn it, Gracen!”

  “Don’t you yell at me! I’m trying to make a point here,” she said, slapping my ass.

  “Keep it up and I’ll throw you in the bushes. You can sleep there all night,” I said, giving her a good bounce on my shoulder.

  “Ooof. Your muscles are hurting me,” she answered with an over-exaggerated groan that turned into a snicker as she continued. “Your muscly muscles are hurting me.”

  “Oh God, I can’t wait to get you home and to bed,” I said, laughing at her drunk rambling. The hold I had on her slipped when she twisted so hard I had no choice but put her back on her feet.

  “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had,” she said, and then took off running for my truck.

  “What the hell?” The murmured question slipped past my lips as I watched her drunken zigzag before taking off after her.

  I made it to her before she did an asphalt face-plant and scooped her into in my arms, proceeding to give her shit. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, running around a damn parking lot drunk as a skunk?”

  “You said you’d take me to bed. I’m just getting us there faster,” she answered, cupping her hand against my jaw as she batted her eyelashes at me.

  My heart galloped in my chest. “You know, Gracen… that’s almost tempting.”

  She nodded sharply. “Ya know what, Slade? This has been the best birthday ever.”

  Her hands shot out, pinwheeling like an orchestra conductor as she bellowed out her own rendition of the birthday song. “Happy birthday to meeeee… Happy birthday to me… I’m gonna climb you like a tree, and then we’ll watch some TV…”

  “Like a tree, huh?” I said, putting her down by the passenger door of my truck before lifting her into the seat and buckling her in.

  “You’re kinda like a tree… all big and strong.” Her eyes sparkled in the reflection of the parking lot lights as her fingers came up, snapping between the two of us as she pointed at me. “And you have a root!” She busted out laughing at her own joke as I closed the door and walked around the back of the truck.

  I needed a second to pull myself together after that one. Gracen was clearly hammered. In the morning, if she even remembered it, she’d probably turn a nice shade of tomato when she thought about what she’d said. I needed to remember that and not allow my feelings to overrule my actions. I’d loved her far too long to take what she offered in her alcohol-fogged state. She meant more to me than that. And one taste of Gracen would never be enough. Not in this lifetime. Hell, not even in the next thousand.

  As soon as the truck fired up and I turned out of the parking lot, Gracen unbuckled her seatbelt and laid down, putting her head in my lap.

  “Slade?” she whispered.

  “Yeah, Gray?” I answered.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” I asked, wondering where the conversation was headed.

  “For being you.”

  Her body relaxing, Gracen fell asleep.

  I made a pallet on Gracen’s bedroom floor after I made sure she was tucked in. Lucy, Gracen’s Australian Shepard, jumped on the bed, settling at her girl’s feet as I tried to relax enough to calm down and go to sleep.

  Just as I was drifting off, Gracen rolled over, mumbling something I couldn’t understand.

  With a silent chuckle, I plumped my pillow and closed my eyes, wondering what other nonsense she’d rattle on about in her dreams. Gracen had always talked in her sleep. Especially when she’d crash out on the couch while we watched a movie together. Most always it was only a word or two. Nothing ever really made sense, but it was funny to listen to and tease her about.

  The night wrapped its arms around me as I settled in, trying to find a comfortable position against the unyielding floor. I really wanted my bed, but with as much as she’d drank, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her on her own.

  My ears perked with the sound of rustling sheets. I moved to sit up, ready to help if she needed it, but she was just turning over. She half buried herself under the mound of covers, mumbled something incoherent, paused, and then said, “More than cheese and crackers, Slade.”

  That simple sentence kicked me in the stomach like a pissed-off heifer. It took my thoughts and scattered them, and I was pretty sure my heart stopped beating for at least four beats. I hadn’t heard her say that since before her daddy died. It was something they said to each other; only they’d said ‘I love you like cheese and crackers’.

  Never more.

  Never me.

  It was just a mix of words in her dreams, I told myself over and over again. But there was no erasing those words from my memory.

  “Cheese and crackers, Gray,” I whispered back, hearing a contented sigh from somewhere in the blankets.

  Lucy jumped off the bed and came over to me, sniffing along the blankets before flopping down. I scratched her ears as sleep continued to elude me.

  Chapter 3

  Gracen

  With the darkest pair of sunglasses I owned perched on my nose, I headed to the barn with two steaming cups of coffee.

  I knew he’d be there. He was always there.

  Except when he wouldn’t be. But I couldn’t think about it. Not until I absolutely had to.

  I’d already had a rough start to my morning, adding a dollop of gut-wrenching sadness to it would make me a complete masochist. As if vomiting up the lining of my stomach hadn’t been enough. But I’d forced myself to eat some toast, take some headache medicine, and swallow two full glasses of water. I wasn’t going to miss the last few mornings I had with Slade before he left.

  “Mornin’, Gracen. How’s the head?” Slade asked, rolling a wheelbarrow out of Ghost’s stall.

  Ghost, an American Quarter Horse aptly named for his light-footed walk and white patch that ran down his back like a cape, was tied outside his stall. He picked his head up and whickered, curling his lips at me in greeting. He knew I had an apple for him. I always did.

  I took a long drink of my coffee, its warmth sliding down my throat and loosening my vocal chords enough to croak out my replied, “Mornin’,” as I handed Slade his cup.

  Once that hand was free, I pulled the shiny red apple out of the pocket of my sweatpants, opening my hand flat for the horse. He bobbed his head, swishing his tail hard enough that it smacked Slade in the elbow and made him spill his coffee.

  “I see how it is. I clean your stall for you while you stomp your feet and give me shit, but a pretty girl with an apple comes along and you’re all whickers and tails.” Slade set his cup on the fence post and grabbed a flake of hay, spreading it out along the floor of Ghost’s stall.

  Once his stall was ready, I untied the horse and handed the reins over to Slade.

  Ghost snorted, prancing beside him as if in agreement. Once his stall door was shut, he stuck his head over the rail, looking for a scratch between his eyes.

  I obliged him. In return, he blew out a very obnoxious burst of apple-scented horse breath in my face.

  Slade finished his coffee in two swallows before handing me back the cup. “I’m impressed. I thought for sure I wouldn’t see you until later this afternoon.”

  As was our routine, he’d drink his coffee in four swallows… tops, and I’d sip mine as I followed him around the barn. Once I’d drained the last dregs from my cup, I’d help him finish his chores. After that, we’d take off and find something to do. But that was usually on Sunday
s. Not Thursdays.

  Knowing Slade was leaving, I put in for time off at the boutique I worked at in town. My manager, Mavis, gave me the time without blinking an eye. That was what happened when you worked for someone for four years without missing a day. For the past year, I’d taken on a whole lot more responsibilities at the boutique. There were times I felt as if I were there more than I was home. However, the boutique was closed on Sunday.

  Slade’s days were as full as my own. Being the owner of the ranch’s nephew tended to do that. But Slade loved it. Ranching was in his blood. Me? Not so much. I’d come to the ranch as a wet-behind-the-ears greenhorn when Daddy had taken the foreman position.

  To say it was a rough start went without saying. Picture a girl used to city living, wearing a frilly dress in pigtails and white Mary Janes, stepping in her very first cow-paddy. It took a while. I adjusted with Slade’s help. The rest was history.

  After Daddy passed, Slade’s uncle insisted I stay, which was a huge relief to me, because I had nowhere else to go. Momma had passed when I was four, and her family had never forgiven Daddy for running off with their little girl. I’d asked about them a time or two, but Daddy never wanted to talk about them. Instead, he’d tell me if I ever wanted to see them, he’d take me. But after the cold looks and the mean way they’d talked to Daddy after Momma’s funeral, I didn’t want any part of them.

  Daddy’s parents were gone long before I was even thought about. After Daddy passed, I knew I was well and truly alone. I hadn’t a clue what to do until Slade’s uncle, who even I called Uncle Joe, stopped in while I was packing our meager belongings. He’d sat me down at the table, telling me the Owens’ Ranch was my home and he wasn’t gonna hear another word about it.

  I wasn’t sure if he’d done it because he’d felt a responsibility to my dad, or if it had been for Slade. I’d never asked, and they’d never said.

  “So besides nursing a killer hangover, what are you up to today?” Slade asked, moving down to Buxby’s stall.

  Buxby, named after his buckskin coloring, snorted and chuffed at Slade’s hand as he approached him with his halter.