I swallow, staring up at the stars instead of looking at her. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re lying,” Mac says.
“No,” I counter, “I’m fine.” And it isn’t a lie. I am well enough.
“You always say that—”
“Well, what do you want me to say? That I’m miserable half the time? You already know that.” Mac lets out a breath, and I regret being short with her. I don’t want to have this conversation at all, but I know if I don’t give her a little bit of myself she won’t let the topic go. “There’s just a lot going on, you know?”
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I know.”
“We’re getting a new boarder next week,” I add, trying to sound more chipper.
“Yeah? That will help with the money sit—eek!” Mac turns onto her hip quickly, like she’s been bitten, and reaches for her back pocket. “Shit, that startled me . . .” She pulls out her cell phone and swipes the screen. She scans it, her whole face glowing. “Nick wants to know if he and Reilly can come crash our party. Says he’s off soon.”
My heart palpitates, and I can feel the blood rushing through my body at roadrunner speed. I can’t help the way my fingers tap against the rooftop.
“Sam,” Mac drawls and I can feel her gaze on me, burrowing into my soul, searching for answers. Even in the darkness I can’t hide anything from her.
“What is it?” she finally asks. “Have you seen him yet?” Her eyes widen to saucers, glimmering in the light of the moon. “Spill. Now.”
Flashing her my best puppy-dog eyes, I hope she’ll relent, but she doesn’t.
“Fine. I’ll just ask him when he gets here. I have no shame.” She picks up her cell again. The lit-up screen is near blinding as she types in SURE. BRING BEER. SEE YOU SOON! And smiles over at me.
“You’re not seriously having them over . . . are they supposed to crawl up here with us, or are we going to hang out with your dad passed out in his chair in the living room?”
“And why not have them up here? Nick does it all the time.”
I balk. “Yeah, and there’s barely room for a fourth. What are we, twelve?”
Mac squints at me before she seems to give up and grins. “Who cares how old we are, Sam? You need to loosen up, have some fun. You’re borderline pathetic.”
“Gee, thanks.” I settle back down and stare up at the sky. I rub my forehead, wondering if I can handle seeing Reilly tonight.
“Did something happen or do you just not want to see him, Sam?”
“Yes—I mean, it’s both,” I rush to say. I roll onto my side to face her. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Earlier this week,” I start, deciding how much to tell her. Do I start with the dream, or just blam, I’m swimming, and—
“Earlier this week what? Come on, Sam. You’re killing me. I have no life of my own. You have to tell me.”
“You’re the one giving me shit and calling me pathetic—”
“Please!”
Even though it’s only Mac lying next to me, mortification still burns my cheeks. “A few mornings ago, I needed some air, so I went for an early ride. I ended up at the lake and thought a quick dip would be a good way to clear my mind—”
“Oh my god, and . . .”
“And I got tangled up in Reilly’s fishing line—naked—and he had to untangle me. It was humiliating and don’t say a single word, Mac!”
“You were skinny dipping and Reilly had to save your life?” The thrill in her voice is almost comical and her laughter booms in the air around us.
“Shhh! I don’t want the whole world to know. Besides, he didn’t save my life, Mac. Well, maybe he did, sort of—but the point is that I’m humiliated and I don’t want to see him. It will only make everything worse.”
“Or better,” Mac chirps. “You need some hot and heavy in your life.”
I shake my head to dispel the distracting images that come to mind. “Not with Reilly.”
“Why not? You loved him once, a part of you probably still does. He’s a nice guy, the circumstances were just bad.”
I groan. “I can’t think like that, Mac.”
“Why?”
“Because—”
“Because why?” She flicks me. “Because you’re stubborn as hell?”
“You’re one to talk!” I flick her back.
“Ow! That one hurt.” She rubs the side of her arm.
“I can’t think like that because he’s leaving soon.” And I can’t do this again, any of it.
“Alright, alright. I’ll let it go, for now.” Mac reaches for the wine bottle, turning it upside down when she realizes it’s empty. “Poop.”
Everything that happened from the moment Reilly left—his past with Bethany, the distance between us, him showing up on Mike’s door, the accident—comes crashing down on me, and I take a deep, calming breath. Besides, I have no idea how he even feels about me anymore.
I look at Mac. “So, are you going to uninvite them?” I ask, hopeful.
“Oh, yeah.” She pulls out her phone and swipes the screen. Selecting Nick’s text message, she types in: NOT MY HOUSE. WE’LL MEET YOU AT LICK’S IN 30. She presses send.
“Wait, why are you doing that? I thought we agreed we aren’t hanging out with them.”
“No,” she says, getting to her feet. “I agreed I wouldn’t invite them over to cuddle on the rooftop. We’re grabbing a drink. That way you don’t have to touch or talk to Reilly if you don’t want to, but I haven’t seen him at all since he’s been back. So we’re going.”
My palms begin to sweat, but I say nothing.
Twenty minutes later, Mac and I are walking through the parking lot at Lick’s. I don’t see the Rumbler anywhere in sight. It’s big and red and would be hard to miss, so I’m able to relax a little as we walk to the entrance.
A nice bouncer opens the door for us and we step inside. There’s no need to show IDs. The town’s too small not to know us—me, the horse girl who lost the town’s beloved horse whisperer in a tragic accident, and Mac, Cal Carmichael’s only daughter, who is very off limits.
Classic rock booms from the jukebox, and I’m sure that Nick had a hand in the selection. It’s been weeks since I’ve been here, maybe even months, and the place is a little darker than I remember. It seems smaller, too, with the exception of the bar mirrors lining the walls, giving the illusion of space. It smells like stale beer and the cloying scent of perfume, but it could be worse. People are laughing and chatting above the music, and I let the tension ease from my shoulders, just a little bit.
“Sup, girl!” Nick drawls to us from behind the bar. He’s wiping off the countertop, a fat smile on his face, and he waves us over.
“Come on,” Mac says, fluffing her hair from the walk. “Let’s get a drink.”
I pry my gaze away from the door, hoping Reilly doesn’t show up for a while, and follow Mac through the throng of Saturday night folks to wait for a drink. On our way over to grab a beverage, I spot a pretty redhead behind the bar with her hair pulled up in a messy bun. I nudge Mac. “I think that’s Savannah,” I say into her ear and point with my chin.
Mac’s eyes alight and she grins. “Shall we introduce ourselves?” Her smile is wicked, and for a moment, I wonder if that’s such a good idea, given the bottle of wine we just shared, but I nod anyway.
For a brief moment, my gaze meets Nick’s. His eyes shift rapidly between Mac and me. I try to offer him a reassuring smile, but Nick knows Mac too well to think we’re simply ordering a drink.
Savannah’s on the opposite end of the bar from Nick, concocting a line of drinks that are bright blue and fancy looking. “Those look delicious,” I say above the loud group standing at the counter, chatting and waiting for their drinks.
Savannah smiles as we squeeze up against the bar to wait our turn. “Don’t they? They’re AMFs.”
“They’re what?” I ask, leaning closer. The countertop is a little sticky, but I try to ignore it as I strain to hear her.
&nbs
p; “Adios Motherfuckers,” Savannah says, her smile turning devious. “They’re pretty good.”
Mac’s eyes are narrowed and scheming when she looks at me and nods. “They sound dangerous. We should try one.”
As I shake my head, Mac orders two, one for each of us, and I know this night is going to end badly for me.
Savannah grins. “Sounds like you ladies are looking to have some fun tonight.”
“Sam, here,” Mac says, pointing over her shoulder at me. She leans forward so Savannah can hear her clearly. “Sam has no idea how to let loose, so I’m going to help her with that tonight.”
“I’m Sam,” I say, extending my hand to her.
Savannah accepts it, dark blue eyes cautious as she glances between Mac and me. “Savannah,” she says. I can tell she’s putting the pieces together. She’s heard of us, from Nick no doubt.
“And I’m Mac.” Mac offers her hand, too, and I’m concerned by her expression.
Savannah shakes Mac’s hand briefly and, with a nod, goes back to work, pouring our drinks.
“So,” Mac says, “what do you think about Nick?”
Savannah’s features scrunch infinitesimally.
“Here we go,” I mutter, and I settle in on a stool crammed up against the bar as Mac pulls out the big guns.
“Why is that any of your business?” Savannah asks, and her demeanor shifts from friendly and conversational to closed-off and stilted. I watch as she pours vodka on top of rum on top of gin, and I feel drunk just watching her. When Savannah’s finished, she levels her gaze on Mac, waiting for an explanation.
Mac points to Nick. “He’s like our brother, and for some reason he likes you.”
“That came out wrong,” I’m quick to say, and I jab Mac with my elbow. “Way to make a winning impression.”
“I’m not trying to impress her,” Mac says, blunt as can be.
“What are you trying to do? Threaten me?” Savannah seems unfazed. As a pretty, female bartender, I can imagine she’s had experience with a ton of personalities in her face. She humors Mac. “If you are, I’m not sure it’s working.”
Mac feigns a laugh. “I want to make sure you know you have us to answer to if you fuck around with him and break his heart.”
I feel sorry for Nick already. He should’ve brought her around us sooner, in a safer environment. Unsupervised, Mac’s claws start coming out. I lean over the bar again. “You’ll have to excuse Mac, she’s very protective and doesn’t really have a filter.”
Mac stares at me, incredulous. “Of course I’m protective. Who else is going to look out for him? He’s too sweet. He keeps getting his heart stomped on.”
“True,” I say and shrug in agreeance.
Savannah’s gaze sharpens on Mac and then on me before she glances over at Nick, who’s smiling and flirting—as most bartenders do—with a woman he’s helping at the end of the bar.
“He has no idea you’re threatening me right now, does he?” I catch a hint of amusement in Savannah’s voice.
Mac scoffs. “Of course not.” She slaps fifteen dollars on the bar. “He’d kill me.” She points to the money. “Keep the change.”
Savannah’s clearly suppressing a smile as she slides our drinks to us. “Enjoy, ladies.”
Always the brave one, Mac smiles with anticipation and takes a sip first. Her eyes flutter closed and she licks her lips. “You’re right, they’re scrumptious.” She takes another drink.
Finally, I venture a try. I can barely taste the alcohol, but it’s clearly in there. I watched Savannah pour shot on top of shot. “They’re trouble is what they are,” I mumble.
Mac winks at me. “Precisely.”
I shake my head at incorrigible Mac and turn to Savannah. “So, are you going on the canoeing trip with us?” I ask, trying to tone down the tension a bit. “It’s a lot of fun.”
Savannah peels her gaze away from Mac, like she’s an intriguing conundrum, and looks at me as she lets a small smile slip through. “I don’t know. I was thinking about it. Now that I know she’s going”—Savannah glances back at Mac—“I might have to rethink that decision.”
Mac bursts out with a laugh. “You’re funny. I like you.”
Like he’d been trying to get over to us sooner, Nick sidles up to Savannah with a bar rag draped over his shoulder. He looks a little anxious as his eyes dart around to each of us. “You got here just in time,” he says, smiling at Mac and me. “I’m off in a few.”
His gaze skirts to Savannah but she quickly busies herself wiping off the bar, like she doesn’t want to give anything that’s between them away. I’m happy that he has someone he can focus on, something other than the ranch and school. But all happy thoughts evaporate when I hear a grossly familiar voice in the crowd behind me. “Excuse me. Move please. Move!” Nick’s smile falters.
“Great,” I mutter and look at Mac.
Bethany pushes her way in beside me at the bar. I look over my shoulder, meeting her grey-green eyes before they shift to Nick. Savannah murmurs something to him, smiles—probably completely oblivious to who and what Bethany is to our group—and walks away.
Bethany makes a disgruntled noise. “I’ll have a whisky sour,” she says almost coolly. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was jealous of Savannah—which would make absolutely no sense, given the fact Nick’s been in love with Bethany since . . . middle school? She’s never given him the time of day.
Everything about her is infuriating, so I take a long pull from my straw to cool me off.
“Let’s go,” I tell Mac. “Talk about a buzzkill.”
Mac snorts and we step away. “It was nice meeting you, Savannah!” I call down the bar, and she gives us a partial wave. “Way to make our first encounter awkward,” I tell Mac. “She’s probably trying to figure out whether or not she hates us.”
Waving my comment away, Mac takes a sip of her drink and scours the room. “She’ll remember us,” she says over the boisterous crowd. “That’s the point.”
Some guy I recognize from high school but haven’t seen in ages comes up to Mac. She beams and nearly shrieks as she wraps her arms around him. She holds her finger up for me to wait, but I point toward the section of tables so that she knows I’m venturing out, deeper into the throng of people.
With so many folks out dancing, I easily spot an empty cocktail table in the corner and head over to claim it. Given the fact that Lick’s is pretty packed tonight, I’m surprised Nick is off so early, but then Nick’s best buds with Brady, the owner, and can probably get whatever shift he wants. I glance around at what looks like half of Saratoga Falls filling the place. Even though the population of our agricultural retirement town is meager, I doubt that’s true.
When the song changes, banjos and tambourines fill the air and everyone stops grinding on each other and steps into rows. I’ve never been into the whole country-western-dancing thing, but before the night is over, I know Mac will have me out on the dance floor with her, acting like a fool and having fun. Damn her, she’s always been good at that.
“No dancing tonight?”
I spin around to face Reilly, nearly splashing my drink all over my strappy sundress. He’s standing so close I can feel heat radiating from his body. Or is it my body? I lick my lips. “Um, no, probably not. At least not right now.” It hits me that the last time I went dancing was with Reilly, at some fancy dinner place my senior year, right before he shipped off. He’d kissed me passionately—almost desperately—on the dancefloor that night. I remember the whirr of conversations surrounding us was almost muted as I breathed him in, wanting to keep his rich, warm familiar scent locked away for later when he was gone and I was alone.
I hope to God he can’t see the memory replaying anywhere on my face. His gaze lingers on my lips, then shifts to my eyes. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I don’t appreciate how jittery his presence makes me. And just as I anticipated, all I can think about is him standing beside me in the lake, the feel of his arms a
nd how much I miss them. I clear my throat, feeling perspiration sticky on the back of my neck.
Turning back toward the table, I take another sip of my drink, trying to focus on the tinge of bitterness I can taste over the syrupy sweetness. But for some reason, all I can picture is Reilly standing behind me, the way his shoulders fill out his t-shirt and his jaw clenching under his freshly shaven face.
The air shifts behind me and Reilly leans closer, his arm barely touching mine as he sets his beer down on the table. His fingers release the sweaty bottle, and the memory of his burning touch against my cool skin in the morning breeze sends a blaze of fire through me. I take another drink.
Reilly doesn’t move away, but leans down to my ear. I’m acutely aware that either I need to stop drinking or I need to drink more if I’m going to get through the night without losing my mind entirely.
He takes a breath and I think he’s about to say something when I hear her voice again, and Bethany’s rushing over to us—to Reilly. I turn around just in time to watch her arms wrap around his shoulders in a giant hug. He doesn’t flinch or attempt to push her away, but then again, why would he?
I bristle and take a few more sips of my drink, glancing around for Mac, praying she’d get the hell over here, when Bethany gets a phone call and steps out of the bar. I sit down on the stool and take another drink, glad it’s loud so Reilly and I aren’t there together in silence.
“Any battle wounds from the other morning?” he asks, close to my ear so that he doesn’t have to shout.
Mortification. Mortification and anger send my fuzzying mind scrambling, and I don’t think I can even look at him. He’s going to flirt with Bethany, let her fawn all over him—hang on him—then talk to me about the last time we were together and I was naked? I’m tired of Bethany inserting herself in my life. “Can we just forget about the lake, please?” I say it as coolly as possible, but I’m really silently begging and pleading with him to never bring it up again.
When Reilly doesn’t say anything, I turn slightly to face him. He blinks, his lips pursed, and he offers me a tight-lipped smile. “Sure.” He straightens and looks past me, his false smile wavering, then he finally meets my gaze again. “Does this mean we can’t be friends, at least while I’m home?”
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 11