He huffed out a laugh, and then fell into comfortable silence.
Sara stared out at the shimmering stars. On that ledge, it was like the world dropped away and they were floating together in the syrup of the Milky Way. Her muscles relaxed as she leaned into him more heavily, craving his warmth. Remembering the companionship and closeness forged with popping bubble gum and skinned knees. Lord, she had missed this. Missed the contentment of it.
All too soon, though, Mikey reached into his pocket and brought out his phone. The world obtrusively lit up. From the glow, she could see him grimace. A moment later, he slowly stood up and reached down a hand for her.
Once she was standing, he said, “I have a feeling that you haven’t changed all that much. Or why would you be here, in your childhood dream?”
Sara wormed her arm through his, turning solemn. “Working as a waitress isn’t really the dream, but yeah, the responsible job I had didn’t make as much sense anymore. I just figured I might get out there and experience some life.”
As they came back in sight of the fire pit, half a dozen girls glanced their way. Only one or two went back to what they were doing. The rest stared at Mikey, tracking his progress as he approached.
Sara grinned, about to comment, then he stopped. He turned to her, his face serious. “My dream was to be G.I. Joe. There is always a way to claim what’s ours if we keep our eye on the prize. Okay?”
“Um… yes. Got it.”
“Give me your phone.”
Sara dug in her hoody pocket and produced a smartphone. He quickly pecked at the face and then handed it back. “My number’s in there. The service out here is spotty at best, but call me anytime. Preferably more often than anytime. And leave messages. Or text. Texting works usually.”
“Definitely.” She bobbed her head, clutching the phone tightly.
He lifted her hand to his mouth like in an old western, the softness of his lips grazing her knuckles. He winked, a smile lighting up his face, before he turned.
“Kissing my hand doesn’t make you a cowboy—”
Sara cut off as she realized that the stint in the Special Forces was to fulfill the G.I. Joe calling. That his life on the ranch wrangling cows did make him a cowboy. He was knocking out all his dreams one by one.
“You’re still just as much of a goof!” she yelled after him, forgetting for a minute she wasn’t a rambunctious preteen.
He turned and bowed with a flourish before darkness swallowed him up.
“What was that all about?” Christie said as she and Sam walked up.
“Since when does Mountain Man Mike have a sense of humor?” Sam’s expression was befuddled as he watched the spot where Mikey had disappeared.
“We were just reliving the good ol’ days. We were a couple of weird kids, I’ll say that much. We didn’t care that we were nerds because we had each other.” She shrugged. “Back to real life, though.”
Christie grabbed an imaginary train whistle and tugged. “Toot, toot! All aboard.”
* * *
Mike could barely feel his legs. It felt like he’d just jumped out of a plane without a parachute with his eyes closed. He had no idea when he’d smack into the ground.
He knew she’d be here, of course. He’d heard of the split—his mom still talked to hers. He’d heard of her fiancé picking someone else. Sara had been the laughing stock of their family for years. The man she’d been engaged to was some piece of trash. Gambling addiction with the debt to prove it, no drive, no prospects, no future. She’d kept them afloat through it all, shedding her dreams when she should have shed the man.
And then he’d dumped her. She’d bled for the man, and he just tossed her aside. What a dick.
When Mike had heard all this, he knew he had to call her. She’d been on his mind off and on his whole life, constantly popping up randomly, begging him to remember. Hearing, though, that she’d be making a horrible mistake—said her parents—and quitting her high-powered job to become a nobody in some dude ranch, Mike knew exactly where she’d go. She’d always loved Montana; she’d head here first.
After that, it was just a matter of keeping his ears open. With her skill set and age, not many larger establishments would use her. Why should they? There were stacks of applications from people with ranching or hospitality experience. So when he told Jake to keep his eyes open, as soon as the golden ticket came in, Mike made sure she got brought on.
And here she was. Ho-ly crap.
Did no one think to mention her beauty? His brothers had seen her occasionally, though probably never stopped to say “Hi”, but they’d seen her. Could they not have mentioned, in passing, that the girl was a knockout? Deadly curves, soft brown hair to the middle of her back, large, almond-shaped eyes in a delicate face. He’d got a hard-on the second he’d seen her.
She looked sad, though. Her shoulders hunched, her eyes constantly strayed to the side as thoughts pushed into her head unbidden—her ex had done a number on her. She’d had expectations, and he’d let her down.
Still, she was free. She’d get over this. She’d realize that the little girl Mike had once known was still in there, tough and ready for anything, dragging Mike around by the collar to experience anything and everything she could. She’d always been a fire starter, and once this sadness evaporated, she’d see that her ex-dickhead had done her a favor.
Mike trudged toward the parking lot with his hands stuck deeply in his pockets. He spied Jake’s truck, the gruff man just opening the driver’s door.
“Can I hitch a ride back?” Mike asked. It wasn’t often guests went back to their cars after their initial check-in, so the ranch didn’t waste the energy to light the way. But this was the wilderness in Montana—using a flashlight was expected.
Jake yanked his head toward the truck. The man spoke in body language the way normal people used words.
As Mike climbed in, his thoughts turned back to Sara. Parts of her were exactly the same. It was like, by leaving, they’d thrown a cover over that part of their life to keep the dust off, knowing that someday their other half would show up and they could pick up where they left off.
He’d just opened his eyes, and the ground was rushing up at him a mile a minute.
“She wants to be friends.” Mike’s voice sounded too loud, even competing with the roar of the truck. “She’s had a rough time of it—I get that. But we fit together.”
Mike intertwined his fingers in demonstration. Realizing he looked like a clown, he dropped his hands back to his lap. He stared out the window at the darkness. “We’ve both changed, but in the same direction. Our life experiences are different, but they add to the flavor. But she’s tucked me into the friend zone. It’s suicide.”
Mike blew out a frustrated breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He had his life on the line, and he was in the friend zone. Why not just stroll to the front line in the buff and throw a little wave at the enemy?
“She seems sad. Depressed,” Jake commented.
Mike almost laughed. The two of them hardly exchanged three words unless it was about business, preferring the silence, yet here they were, having a dialogue about a girl. There had been stranger things, but not recently.
Not to lose the opportunity for help, Mike explained, “She was with one guy for over ten years. Only guy she’s ever been with. He cheated on her for a year, that she knows of, and then finally dumped her for the other girl. The other girl was younger, apparently.”
Jake made a noise like a soft whistle.
“Yeah, women hate being dumped for younger girls,” Mike said. “They don’t realize the guy is just insecure. Especially in this case. Those kind of guys need immaturity in their woman so they seem more like men—less like immature deadbeats.”
Jake put his hand on his knee. “Long time.”
Mike agreed. It was a long time. A lo-ong time. She’d only known one man intimately. She’d missed out on flirting, forgotten the rush of the first kiss, and the wonder of ma
king love for the first time.
This was also her first mistake. She had no other terrible life lessons to put this in perspective. She now saw her whole adult life as one giant mistake.
His heart twisted for her.
“She’s gonna jump back on too quick. Then run for the hills. Friend is best,” Jake said in his customary rumble.
Mike stared at the crotchety ranch hand. It seemed that when the guy used words, Mike got confused. “Not following.”
“She’s gonna try ’n fix it with someone.”
The light bulb clicked on. “Rebound. She’s going to rebound.”
That made sense. She wasn’t the type of woman to hide. Never had been. She’d gather up her courage, look for someone decent—the opposite of what she’d had—and force intimacy. She would then realize she’d screwed up, taken the wrong path, and finally make herself heal rather than patch it up.
“She doesn’t have a record of jumping out of bad situations, though. She sticks it out.” Mike scrubbed his fingers through his hair again.
“Women learn eventually. Just have to hang around.”
Hang around as a friend…
Then what? How did he cross the friend barrier?
“You always had a knack for training wild horses,” Jake continued.
Mike stared at Jake in utter loss. “Are you trying to baffle me, or is it a natural gift?”
Jake grunted.
Apparently Mike was dense, was he? That right?
As they parked, Jake turned off the ignition and sat for a minute, reflecting. Mike waited patiently.
When Jake finally spoke, his voice drawled softly, as if imparting some long-forgotten rhetoric.
“She’s gonna get to a stage where she’s lost—don’t know which way to turn. Her herd is gone, her life as she knew it gone, ’n all she’s got is an ugly horse wrangler with a soft voice and subtle hand. You gotta know that exact point”—Jake’s hand snatched something invisible out of the air—“and turn her to your side. You’re a good horse wrangler, for a numb-nuts city boy. Women are no diff’rnt.”
As Mike digested that unexpected wisdom, Jake half-turned, gave Mike’s shoulder two manly pats, and climbed out of the cab.
All Mike could do was blink in the aftermath. That sermon sounded like it had come from personal experience. Mike knew Jake was a creature of great depth; he’d just never gotten proof.
Before he could follow Jake out of the truck, his phone vibrated.
Text from Sara: whatcha doin?
Text from Sara: n don’t say talking to me. my father tells that joke
Mike couldn’t help but smile with how quickly she’d made contact after they separated. She felt it. That pull. That yearning for the other, wanting to just hang out every minute of the day. He had no idea how he’d spent half his life without her. Even in that first glimpse of her again, all he had wanted to do was glue himself to her side. Just like before.
Feeling his stomach squirm with anticipation, he let himself into the barracks he shared with Jake and Greg, close to the ranch, and slipped into his room.
Text from Mikey: Texting you
Text from Sara: grrr! where r u?
Text from Mikey: In bed. U?
Text from Sara: bed. hiding under covers from Christie or she’ll want to know what u are saying
Mike settled into his bed.
Text from Mikey: Miss me already?
Text from Sara: missing my mikey electric blanket
Text from Sara: not missing the cramped space thou. ur too big now to fit.
He would fit just fine. Over and over again he’d fit. For long periods of time.
Text from Mikey: Get a bigger bed
Text from Sara: ha! it wouldn’t fit in the room, fatty
Text from Mikey: Come to mine. Got plenty of space.
Text from Sara: maybe some time. night-night. don’t let bugs bite
Text from Sara: *bed bugs
Text from Sara: bite
Text from Sara: dig it
A smile worked up Mike’s face. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, and “come over” was the first. “I’ll come to you” was the second. “I love you” the third.
Text from Mikey: ’Night. See you soon!
It would have to do. For now.
* * *
Sara sat on the floor at seven years old in the living room in cowboy boots, a new tweed hat, and a homemade cowgirl outfit that her mom had sewed. Mikey sat right next to her in a purchased cowboy costume, a huge bag of candy opened in front of him.
“Snickers, please.” Sara held out her hand as she pawed through her Halloween candy.
Mikey glanced at her hand. His eyebrows dipped low. “I like Snickers. I’ll trade for Kit Kat.”
“What?” Sara spied his candy, and then raised her outraged gaze to his chubby face. “We had a deal. I’d dress up like a goober if you traded me Snickers for my Starburst. You can’t go back on your word after the fact.”
“You’re the other half to my cowboy. That’s your job as a girl. And I didn’t spit-shake for it. The contract nult and voided. It isn’t binded.”
Black clouds came through, hovering over Sara’s expression. “Looking stupid has nothing to do with being a girl. And don’t you start talking like your dad again. You don’t even know what any of that means. Give me your Snickers. You promised!”
“No. You can have the Kit Kat or nothing.”
“You turd!” Sara wadded up her fist and punched him in the arm as hard as she could.
“Sara!” Denise yelled from the kitchen. “I saw that. Stop picking on him.”
“Let her,” Mikey’s dad said in a gruff, disapproving voice. “If my son can’t protect himself from a girl, he can’t call himself a man.”
“Oh, Jack, stop. He’s just a boy,” Pam said.
“He won’t give me the Snickers!” Sara yelled, leaning forward to grab what she wanted.
Mikey snatched his bag to his chest with one hand and shoved her shoulder with the other. Sara tumbled away from him, barely managing to pull her bag with her so he didn’t get grabby.
“Michael Frost, we do not hit women!” Jack roared.
“You just told him to protect himself, and now you yell at him that he shouldn’t hit girls? Which is it?” Pam drawled without humor.
“C’mere, Mike, we’re going home,” Jack said.
Face set in a smug mask, Mikey clutched his candy tight to his chest. “I win.”
“You’re going to get in trouble, and you think you win?” Sara asked smugly.
“At least you don’t get the Snickers. And you hate Starburst, so I’ll still get it.”
“I’ll throw it all away, you butthead. You’re not going to get it!”
Mikey rose to a standing position, his face a stubborn mask. “Just wait. I will. I win.”
“C’mon, Michael, I haven’t got all day.” Jack stood by the door impatiently.
As Mikey took a step across Sara’s seated body, Sara kicked up a foot and caught his boot. Balance still going forward, but his foot momentarily caught on Sara’s, gravity took over. He stumbled. Refusing to let go of his candy, he didn’t put his hands up as he fell. His face scraped against the shag carpet.
“Sara!” Denise yelled. “No TV for you.”
Sara threw Mikey an evil grin. “Worth it.”
Chapter 5
Sara stood in front of her workstation, her tags all lined up on one side, her money jar on the other, just as an over-organized Christie had shown her. She had on her apron, her hair and makeup screamed professional, and the first guests were sitting down to their breakfasts in the large dining room.
“If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what, then, is an empty desk a sign of?” Florence said in a dry, snarky tone as she lumbered toward the kitchen.
Christie laughed as she whisked by right behind, an armful of unopened ketchup bottles balanced in her arms.
“Don’t worry about
the jackass twins, they’re just pissed the chef starts today.” Christie placed the bottles in the condiment station one by one.
“The chef? Why is he just starting now?”
“Two cooks are good enough for the staff, but Dan and May bring in a chef to spruce up the menu for the guests. He’s some big shot from the city. They pay him a boatload, but the guests rave about him.”
Two more people walked into the dining room, a large space fashioned after a traditional log cabin. Sara had never seen so much bare wood in her life. Beams stretched across the ceiling, a similar color as the wood slate lining the walls. A wooden floor with a high gloss supported rustic tables and chairs. It was all a little hokey for Sara’s taste, but if it was what the guests were after, who was she to say boo?
“All right, showtime!” Christie said, wiping her hands on her jeans.
They’d been told their uniform consisted of jeans and a T-shirt. All clothing items should be clean, ironed, and without holes or rips, but they should look casual in order to fit in with the décor.
Fine by Sara. Jeans were exactly her speed.
“Okay, dearie-dee. Go take some orders!” Christie said with a beaming smile, giving Sara a little push.
With nervous jitters, Sara lurched toward her first table with a wooden smile. She hadn’t waited tables since she was in her early twenties. Very early twenties. She didn’t think it would be beyond her, but customer service was an art she had to reacquire.
“Good morning,” she said at her first table. “I’m Sara. I’ll be helping you this morning.” Sara met the woman’s eyes, a willowy dame in her late forties, then noticed the man, a graying fella of about the same age.
“Hi there, honey.” The woman smiled up at her, her twang denoting the South. “This is our first trip up here, and I must say, that bed was sure comfortable!”
Sara smiled sweetly, in guest-pleasing mode. “I’m so glad! What did you have planned for today?”
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