by Taylor Dean
After a lunch of hot ham and cheese sandwiches along with macaroni salad, Stony surprises me by asking, “Wanna take a walk?”
“Yes, I’d love to.” Although walking around here doesn’t exactly bring back good memories. I won’t be alone though and as long as I’m with Stony, I’ll feel safe. He’ll keep my demons at bay. Seriously, this place would make a great setting for a dreary apocalyptic movie. And it would include zombies too.
“You’ve been cooped up for too long,” Stony adds.
It’s true. He must sense my restlessness.
“Won’t it be muddy?”
“We’ll stay on the gravel road.”
Before we go he hands me a bottled water and winks at me. I accept it with gratitude. Water feels like a precious commodity to me now. I’m not sure that feeling will ever fade.
Stony locks the gate to his compound as we leave and I wonder why he’s so careful. There’s no one around.
We set off down the road in the opposite direction from the way I entered. I’m excited to see what the area looks like even though I’m pretty sure it looks about the same everywhere. To my surprise and pleasure, Stony offers me his hand and I readily accept. My hand feels good in his and I love that I’m not turned off by the gesture. I love my hand in his. Love. It.
“Love the feeling of space,” he says.
Okay, so our thoughts are not on the same wavelength. It doesn’t matter. He’s still holding my hand and that says a lot.
I look around the area and suddenly find myself agreeing. Maybe Stony makes me see things through rose-colored glasses. I had judged this place as flat and desolate, barren and bleak. For the first time, I look around and notice things I didn’t before. I see land that meets the horizon. I see a vista of blue with white fluffy clouds in the distance, almost as though I’m looking at a painting. I see land in which every inch represents the opportunity to grow something to support one’s livelihood. I take a deep breath and let the fresh air invade my lungs. I feel open and free. There’s not a soul in sight to interfere with our walk, not a single building to interrupt our view. This land is growing on me.
Or maybe it’s the company I’m keeping. I think Stony has a lot to do with it. Truly, he makes me see it through his eyes.
Every few minutes I see a little bunny hopping around and when we pass a cluster of bushes, I see at least twenty bunnies hunkering under the shade.
I know exactly how they feel and wonder if they’re thirsty. My horrible experience has drastically changed my perspective. “Why are there so many bunnies around here?”
Stony casts me a sly look. “Really?”
I feel my face burn with embarrassment. “Dumb question. Forget I asked.”
He adds, “Got wind of multiply and replenish the earth and took it to heart.”
I laugh as a breeze reaches out and licks at our skin. This area is teeming with life, with vibrancy. I feel as though my eyes have been opened, in more ways than one. I give his hand a little squeeze and he returns the gesture. I love the quiet camaraderie between us.
He keeps our pace leisurely and I wonder if his leg hurts. “Is your leg okay?”
He turns his head and looks at me, perhaps surprised by the question. Maybe everyone always avoids the topic and pretends as though his prosthetic leg doesn’t exist. I think if someone has had to endure that type of injury, they deserve the luxury of talking about it.
“It’s fine.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not if I do what I’m supposed to do.”
“What do you have to do?”
“Exercises. Residual limb care.” He pauses, then adds, “Actually, sometimes I feel warmth, tingling, itching, tightness, or burning. It’s phantom pain from the nerves that would normally extend into my calf and foot. It gives me the illusion that my leg is still there, when it isn’t.”
I never thought complete sentences would turn me on, but coming from Stony they do. “It actually feels like it’s still there?”
“In every way. The only way I know it’s not there is by looking.”
“How strange.”
“Sometimes I reach out to scratch my foot or get out of bed in the morning and forget it’s not there. Weird sensation. When I walk through water and get my good foot wet, my other non-existent foot feels wet too. My mind plays tricks on me.”
“I read a case in one of my psychology magazines where a man buried his amputated leg in the backyard. Don’t ask me why he did such an odd thing. It’s beyond weird. At any rate, he said he could feel the pain of his leg being in an odd position. He actually dug it up and changed the position of his leg around seven times until it felt right.”
“Creepy.”
“Guess that’s why he made it into a psych article.”
“Deserves to be there.”
“Agreed.” Then I tell him, “I’m amazed by all that you can still do.”
He’s quiet for too long and I hope I don’t sound as though I’m searching for things to praise him for. I really mean it.
“Super easy to get frustrated by how long it takes me to do certain tasks. Then I think, at least I can still do them. I’m glad I can be independent and function on my own.”
Stony has found things to be grateful for in spite of everything and I find that attitude impressive. It tells me how he looks at life.
“Was it hard to learn how to walk again?”
“Hours of therapy called gait training. When I woke up from surgery, I couldn’t even turn myself over in bed. I hated that feeling. I felt trapped and claustrophobic. The entire process is a long one, waiting for the limb to heal before you can even put weight on it. I had to go through interim prosthetics until they found the right one for my walking style. I had to learn to take the prosthesis off and on, learn to stand and sit by myself, learn how to distribute my weight so that I don’t put undue strain on my good leg, and I had to re-learn how to balance. It’s been a process.” He stops and faces me. “Hey, we don’t have to talk about this.”
I face him too. “I want to know about it, unless you don’t want to talk about it. Then I understand.”
Again, he’s quiet for several moments. Then he says, “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, I mean thank you for asking about it, for wanting to know about it. Most people avoid it at all cost.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I nod like he does when he doesn’t know what to say.
He tilts his head, “C’mon, there’s something I want to show you.”
He stops next to . . . well, nothing. It’s just a wide open prairie that looks the same as all the rest of the prairie land around here. Except this area is a little more barren than the rest with lots of muddy dirt mounds.
“Just hold still and watch for a moment,” he whispers in my ear.
“What am I looking for?”
“Know it when you see it,” he answers enigmatically. He releases my hand, then wraps one arm around my shoulder, holding me close. All I can think about is his close proximity and how much I like it. How did I ever survive without these feelings?
Then, suddenly, I notice movement, then a little more, and then a little more. The entire area is covered with cute little heads popping in and out of the ground. I gasp at the sight.
“It’s a prairie dog town,” he says quietly. “Seen one before?”
“Cait pointed them out as we drove by one once or twice. I’ve never seen one up close—and I’ve never seen this many.” We spend the next several minutes watching their antics. I can see why people might want one as a pet.
All at once, every single prairie dog in sight ducks into a hole in the ground. “What happened? Did we scare them?”
“Look up.”
I look up and see a large hawk soaring overhead. “Smart little critters,” I say.
The hawk moves on and slowly the prairie dogs once again breach the surface and enjoy the sun. That is until a small
fluffy cloud casts a slight shadow on them, then they all run for cover again and the land looks deserted. I can’t help but laugh out loud, I’m sure spooking the cute little creatures even more. Their instincts serve them well.
There’s so much life here, right where I least expected it.
I found life in this place where I least expected it as well. So much for barren land—and barren feelings. Life and feelings exist here in abundance.
We walk for a few more minutes, then he points to a house in the distance. “See that? That’s my family home. It’s never been torn down. I own this property now and I plan to restore it.”
“I love that idea,” I breathe.
“It’s a humble two story farmhouse, but it’s big on charm. I’d take you to tour it if it wasn’t dangerous. I keep thinking the wind is going to blow and knock it over. It’s that bad. I plan to restore it while keeping the integrity of the original house. Actually when I’m done with it, it’ll be better than it ever was to begin with.”
“Which one will you live in? The one you’re building now or your family home?”
“I plan to give this home to my mother. That way she’ll be close by and I can take care of her. But she’ll still feel independent.”
I turn and look at him. He’s looking at his family home with a determined expression, as though plans are working through his brain as we speak. Several things wander through my mind. This man has many layers. Stony is a man who can build his own home or renovate a dilapidated house. He can fight in the war and feel proud of it. He can lose a leg and suffer burns, move on and overcome them. He can take in a helpless woman and make her feel safe. Not only that, he takes care of his mother. He strikes me as someone who faces adversity head on without crumbling under the pressure. He might be a man of few words at times, but inside of that granite veneer is an amazing person. It’s just very well hidden. He’s a bit of an enigma to me. He doesn’t say much, but when he does, he blows my mind. When he’s so inclined, the depth of his conversation surprises me.
He notices me looking upon him. He returns my gaze, but says nothing. His jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. The wind blows my hair in front of my face and he swipes it away, slowly running his fingers through my locks.
“You’re an amazing man, Stony,” I say in my breathy voice. It always appears when I’m the slightest bit nervous.
He reaches out and traces one finger lightly over my chin and my heart races to epic proportions. He takes a step forward and I think he’s going to kiss me. I know in my heart I want to give it a try and see how I respond. His eyebrows furrow even deeper than usual, like he’s over thinking the moment. I think he wants to kiss me, but he’s torn. It’s funny how the very idea of kissing Finn turned my stomach, and the mere thought of kissing Stony makes my insides melt.
“You don’t know me, Spencer.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
“We can remedy that,” I tell him.
“Suppose you’re right.”
“I . . . I’ve enjoyed my time with you.” I don’t really know what else to say. I mean, it’s not as if I’m already in love with him or anything. But I think it’s not out of the realm of possibilities.
“I like having you here,” he says.
I smile at him and he runs his hand through my hair one more time. His hands rest on my shoulders, then slowly make their way down my arms, making me tingle. His hands wander up and then down again a few more times. His touch is soft and gentle. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of his hands on me. I never knew touch could feel so intimate and so heart racing all at once. One hand drops to his side as the other cups my cheek. I open my eyes as he caresses me for a moment.
Slowly, he removes his hand and takes a step away from me. I have to admit, I’m disappointed.
“C’mon, let’s head back,” he whispers.
We begin walking in the direction of his homestead. I feel like we just left something undone, but I’m not sure how to fix it. This is unknown territory for me. Still we just experienced a moment and I know he knows it too. We walk hand in hand, lost in our own thoughts, on the way home. I can’t hide the small smile that overtakes my face. Even though we need to get to know each other better, I actually wish he’d kissed me. I love the feeling of wanting more. The anticipation is thrilling all on its own.
Stony is moving slowly. Really, it’s just the pace I need.
Regardless, this is happening. I know it is.
CHAPTER
Twelve
I ROLL OVER in my bed and burrow under my covers. I hear Stony’s voice, but it’s a little louder than usual. I know it’s just my subconscious getting louder and louder, echoing my own desires. I love the deep, rich timbre of his voice even in my imagination. It’s soothing and it lulls me back to sleep. I feel myself drifting, yet I want to hear the words Stony is saying to me in my dreams. I want to hang on every word and memorize them.
“Today . . . during our walk . . . I wanted to kiss you, Spencer. More than anything. Knew you were open to it . . . and that means a lot. Kinda wish I hadn’t hesitated. But the strength of my feelings . . . they got the best of me and it was just . . . too much. I’m not a man who does things halfway. If I decide to do something, I do it. It’s all or nothing. For a first kiss . . . maybe it would’ve scared you away. Maybe it would’ve been too much, too soon. I don’t wanna mess this up. So there you have it. It’s too early for us. You know it and so do I. But my mind is working on overtime and it’s so loud in there, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking, don’t go down this path. It’s a dead end. She’s leaving soon. And when she leaves, it’s gonna hurt. When she leaves, it’ll feel like your heart went with her. Don’t do that to yourself, Stony. You have to resist. But you know what? I don’t want to resist. It’s not often that I run into somebody and just click with them. It scares the life out of me and . . .”
The next thing I know it’s morning. I fell asleep during my own dream, just when it was getting good too.
I wish it was real, I wish it was all real. I’d give anything for it to be real. His imagined words are written on my heart.
I brush my teeth, do a little grooming, and walk out to the kitchen and find Stony eating buttered toast and a fried egg. A tall glass of orange juice sits next to him.
He nods toward a duplicate breakfast sitting across from him.
“Thank you.” Again, I search his face for any sign of emotion. I see none. The man who speaks to me in my dreams is filled with so much sentiment, he’s about to burst.
Stony’s face is rock hard, just like his name.
He hands me a package. “This came for you. Roads are open.”
I cradle the package to my chest. My purse means freedom and I’m so thankful for it, I feel tears well in my eyes. “I can finally go home,” I whisper. Then I realize how that must sound and kick myself. I’m not in a hurry to leave Stony.
“I can take you into Sweetwater in an hour. Sound good?” Stony says. He avoids looking me in the eyes and after being with him for three days, I know it isn’t like him to avoid eye contact. It’s as if he wants to steer clear of any connection between us.
Once again there’s no sign that he recited heartfelt words to me the night before. I feel like he should behave differently, a meaningful look, a significant nod, a brief mention; anything that tells me he acknowledges his late night speech.
Instead he says, “Salt and pepper’s on the counter.”
If his late night confessional were real, wouldn’t he have something more to say to me?
Yes, he would. My mind is playing tricks with me. I’m so confused.
“I hate for you to make an unnecessary trip into town if you don’t need to. I don’t mind waiting until your regularly planned trip. I’ve enjoyed being here,” I offer. I can’t take back my earlier words or my excitement at the idea of being able to go home if I so choose. I love the freedom of choice I now have, but truth be told, I don’t want to lea
ve.
He doesn’t take the bait. “No problem. Need to pick up supplies anyway. I know you need to get back to your life.”
If he was really speaking sweet nothings to me in the midnight hour, he’d want me to stay. He’d say something right now, wouldn’t he?
Even though my dreams are all in my imagination, I know we hinted to each other about how perfect the timing is when it comes to our meeting because we’re both unattached. I know he’s interested. I know he almost kissed me.
Then it hits me. Of course he can’t ask me to stay with him in his motorhome. It’s entirely inappropriate. I’m only here now due to circumstances beyond our control. Besides, he’s reminding me I have a life I need to get back to.
I know it too.
This relationship is doomed. We live too far apart from one another. How can we have a chance with each other if he’s in Roby and I’m in Lubbock?
“I’ll get ready to go.” I know I sound downcast.
Once in the bathroom, I peel off the t-shirt and drawstring sweats Stony loaned me for pajamas. The t-shirt is soft and smells like him. I’d like to stuff it in my purse and keep it, but I’m not going to resort to stealing just because my heart thinks it has found someone special.
I search my purse and find my cell phone, my credit and debit card, my driver’s license, and everything else that’s supposed to be there. Thank goodness Finn didn’t rob me as well. The few dollars I normally carry with me are still stuffed into a zippered pocket too.
I pull on my clothes, wishing I had something more to wear. I’ve continued to wash my undies in the sink, then hang them to dry in the corner overnight. If it bothers Stony to have my undies hanging in the bathroom, he hasn’t mentioned it. Even so, I know it must be awkward for him. I dismiss the matter from my mind and shoot Caitlyn a text, just to let her know I received my belongings.
She texts back right away. “Did you kiss him yet?”
I respond with only two words. Shut and up. She has no idea just how close we did come to kissing.
At least I think we did. My inexperience leaves me clueless.