Country Nights

by Winter Renshaw

  I don’t wait for her.

  I head to the barn where two bucket calves await their morning bottles.

  Mixing their formula with warm water, I turn when I hear the door slide open behind me. Leighton stands, dressed in coveralls and a pair of my boots that are way too big for her.

  “That was quick,” I say as the calves nudge my arms and follow me around.

  I place a giant bottle in her arms, and the Holstein calf nearly plows her over.

  “You’ve done this before, right?” I ask.

  “A long time ago.” There’s a hint of a smile on her face as the calf pulls at the bottle, and she holds it tight with both hands. “What’s her name?”

  “Who?”

  “This one. The one I’m feeding.”

  “I don’t name my animals,” I say. “Only the dog.”

  A white bull calf comes up behind her, nudging her back and huffing. He wants to eat too.

  “You should name her,” she says.

  “And why would I do that?” I shake my head. “These aren’t pets, Leighton. No point in getting attached.”

  Leighton shrugs. “I know they’re not pets, but it doesn’t mean you can’t still care about them.”

  “These animals don’t give two shits if they’ve got names or not,” I say. “And I take damn good care of them. That’s all that matters.”

  The white calf tries to knock the bottle out of her hands before headbutting the Holstein calf.

  “I’m calling him R.J.,” Leighton peers up at me through dark lashes, fighting a grin.

  “R.J.?”

  “As in … River Junior,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “He reminds me of you. He’s pushy. And he’s got this permanent scowl on his face,” she adds. “But he’s still kind of cute.”

  “Going to pretend you didn’t just insinuate that I’m cute.”

  “Let’s not read into things, cowboy.”

  The Holstein polishes off the last of her bottle and Leighton grabs the other bottle for “Junior.”

  “This used to be my favorite chore,” she says, a reflective gentleness in her voice. “Feeding the orphaned calves.”

  I say nothing as I watch her. She’s a natural, not minding the slobber on her hands or the baked-in stench of the barn. Most city girls like her, the pretty ones with the perfect hair and bright white smiles, would balk at an experience like this, but so far, she’s yet to complain.

  “You’re a natural,” I say.

  “You say that like you’re shocked.” She doesn’t take her eyes off the white calf, her expression softening.

  “Not shocked. Just impressed.”

  The Holstein strides away, curling up in the corner and watching the two of us.

  “I’m going to call her Penelope,” Leighton says, looking up at her.

  “Why Penelope?”

  “I had a calf named Penelope once. Showed her in 4-H.” She sighs, her lips pulling up at the corners. “She was beautiful. And sweet. And calm. Just like that one over there.”

  Heading to the sliding barn doors, I shove them open so the calves can get some fresh air this morning.

  “Yeah, well, don’t get too attached,” I remind her one last time.

  “Don’t worry about me. I didn’t come here with the intention of attaching myself to anything.”

  “Then why did you come here?”

  “To get away.”

  Junior finishes his bottle and Leighton grabs the other, taking them to the utility sink in the corner of the barn to clean them out. When she’s finished, she tromps my way, keeping a steady gait despite the enormous boots tripping her up.

  “Anybody ever tell you it’s not good to run from things?” I ask, heading to one of the old pickups. I’ve got to change the oil and replace one of the tires I had patched last week.

  “Anybody ever tell you it’s not a good idea to give advice without knowing the full story?”

  “Enlighten me then, because I’d love to prove that regardless of the situation, my advice is solid.”

  We make our way to the old red Dodge up on jacks under a shady oak tree. As soon as we get there, Leighton places her hands on her hips and squints up at the sky.

  “We used to have two tire swings here,” she says.

  “They were long gone before I took over.” I grab my toolbox out of the back, along with some quarts of oil and a new filter. “Anyway, you going to tell me what you’re running from?”

  “How much time do you have?” She half-chuckles.

  “As long as it takes me to finish up here.”

  Taking an oil pan, I crawl beneath the truck’s engine. From the ground, I see Leighton take a seat in the grass a few feet away. She pulls her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

  “I was engaged,” she starts. “His name was Grant. I met him in college. NYU. And he was amazing. So kind. And humble. And smart. And funny. He had this magnetic personality, which I always loved about him because I was pretty quiet and introspective, and he could just walk into a room and light the place on fire. Everyone wanted to be him or be with him. And out of everyone, he picked me.”

  “Go on,” I say, pretending to care as I stifle a yawn.

  “He could make me feel like the only girl in the room,” she says. “And I’d never met anyone who put so much thought and effort into every single occasion. Every birthday, every anniversary, he made it special.” She stops for a moment, maybe pondering. “We were crazy in love. He did this whole big proposal thing at Christmas in front of my family.” She pauses once more. “He graduated from law school a couple years ago and took a job in Scottsdale at this prestigious law firm. And then he changed. It’s like, I blinked … and he was gone.”

  “He changed? Or you changed?”

  “Oh, he definitely changed.” Her voice is louder, insulted almost. “Absolutely, he changed. He went from this humble, all-American nice guy to this Maserati-driving prick who couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

  I wince, sliding out from beneath the truck with a full pan of used oil.

  “That’s tough,” I say. “But it’s still no reason to run away.”

  “There are other things,” she says. “More … personal, I guess you could say. Just little things that added up. The way he treated me. The way he talked to me. The love … the respect … the admiration … it was gone. And when I saw the text from the other woman, that was the end of the trust. And if you don’t have trust, you don’t have a relationship. Doesn’t matter how much you love the person.”

  “That may be true, but what good does it do you to run away with your tail tucked?”

  I rise, grabbing the fresh quarts of oil.

  She stands, arms folded. “My tail is definitely not tucked.”

  “If you say so.” I pop the hood and lean over the engine.

  “What makes you think my tail is tucked?” Her brows meet.

  I shrug, throwing a quick glance her way. “Just something about you seems … sad.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ve got these sad eyes,” I say, studying her face. She’s pretty in an unpretentious kind of way, with creamy skin and heart-shaped lips and a mess of dark hair piled high on her head.

  The sound of gravel crunching under tires provides a welcome interruption. This conversation was getting too close for comfort anyway.

  A dirt-covered Suburban parks next to us, and a second later Molly Fasthorse climbs out with a tin-foil covered plate.

  “Little early for lunch, isn’t it?” I readjust my hat and head her way.

  “I’m running into town in an hour. Thought I’d drop it off now. I can head inside and stick it in the fridge for you,” she says.

  I take the still-warm plate from her hands and hand it to Leighton. “That’s all right. I’ll have my assistant do it for me.”

  Leighton’s eyes move between me and Molly.

  “Assistant?” Molly asks, smirking. “She’s a little t
oo pretty to be hired help, isn’t she?” Molly makes her way to Leighton, extending her right hand and smiling ear to ear. “Since River doesn’t seem to want to introduce us properly … I’m Molly Fasthorse. I live up the hill, about a mile north of here.”

  “Leighton,” she says. “I used to live here.”

  “You used to live in Bonesteel Creek?” Molly’s dark brows rise.

  “I used to live in this house,” she answers. “We moved when I was fifteen.”

  “She thought she was renting this place from someone online,” I interject. “Showed up at my door with her suitcase. Thought it was some kind of joke.”

  Leighton rolls her eyes. “I got scammed.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Molly wraps her arms around Leighton’s shoulders. “I’ve heard about those Internet scammers. What a shame. Way too many greedy assholes in this world.”

  “Anyway. I’m going to take this inside before my boss decides to write me up,” Leighton says, winking my way.

  Molly laughs. “I wouldn’t put that past him. You’re brave to work for him, you know that?”

  “I’m not that bad.” I lock eyes with Leighton, and she’s smiling her proud, pretty little smile. I’ve seen that smile before on another girl. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it and it damn near destroyed me in the end.

  That won’t be happening again.

  “It’s only temporary,” Leighton says. “I think I can handle him until next Friday.”

  “Well, if you ever need a break, just stop on over. I’ve got five boys, six if you count my husband, and I could use a little girl talk. Almost forgot what it’s like.” Molly steps back, slipping her hands in her back pockets.

  “I’d love that.” Leighton gives a little wave before heading inside.

  “Wow, Riv,” Molly says under her voice, turning to me.

  “Wow, what?”

  “That’s not like you, taking in some stranger.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Are you feeling okay?” Molly laughs.

  “She had nowhere to go,” I say, turning back to the truck’s engine. “Found her sleeping in her car outside the co-op this morning.”

  “She seems like a nice girl.”

  I nod. “I guess.”

  “Just be nice to her,” Molly says. “It’s been forever since this place had anything going on.”

  I shoot her a look.

  “I won’t talk about you-know-who.” Molly places her hands in the air in protest. “I’m just saying, it might not be a bad thing if she actually enjoys her time with you and maybe wants to stay a little longer.”

  Shaking my head, I glance at the house. I don’t know what’s taking Leighton so long, but I’m wishing she’d come back, if only because this conversation with Molly needs to be over. Fast.

  “You could use the company,” she adds.

  “She’s leaving next Friday,” I say. “And that’s that.”

  “It’d be nice to see you smile again, River.” Molly’s voice tapers off.

  The screen door opens and shuts and Leighton makes her way across the stone path that cuts through the yard and past the white picket fence.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Molly says before climbing back into her Suburban. “And next time, I’ll bring enough for two.”

  Chapter Seven

  Leighton

  “Where are you going?” River glances up from his newspaper at the kitchen table. I don’t know anyone who reads a newspaper over coffee at eight o’clock at night, but I don’t question it.

  “Thought I’d go to one of those little bars off the square,” I say. “Kind of curious to see who all stuck around this little town and how everyone turned out.”

  He takes a slow sip. “Pretty sure it’s going to be about who you’d expect.”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Stillness lingers between us, and I’m almost certain his eyes are skimming the paper but he’s only pretending to read.

  “You want to come with?” I offer.

  His lips tighten and he shakes his head. “Going to bed soon. Five o’clock comes early.”

  “I’m just going to have one drink,” I say.

  “I’m not your keeper.”

  “I know you’re not my keeper. I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not some kind of crazy party animal.”

  “And if you were, it’d be none of my concern.” He takes another bored sip.

  “Isn’t that coffee going to keep you up all night?”

  “Decaf.”

  “I never understood the point of decaf coffee.”

  River glances up, our stares intersecting. “Sometimes all you need is the experience. Anyway, you have yourself a good time.”

  I tuck my clutch under my arm, wondering if my black blouse and white jean shorts are going to be too much for a little small-town bar.

  “Sure you don’t want to join me?” I ask one last time. Maybe a drink or two would loosen him up a bit? I imagine there’s someone else entirely beneath his steel-armor personality.

  “Yep.” He straightens his newspaper.

  “Maybe next time?”

  He doesn’t answer, doesn’t look up.

  I leave.

  Every eye in the place is on me the second I walk into The Oasis on Wellman Street. It was either this or the American Legion next to the plastic factory. An old firehouse-turned-taproom, this place has been here since I was a kid, though I’ve never stepped foot in here until now.

  The smoke clears and my eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

  A row of men in dingy gray t-shirts and holey jeans crane their necks in my direction, and across the room, three men playing pool with a scantily-clad woman stop and stare. The jukebox is playing an old Alan Jackson song, and the floor sticks to the bottom of my flats as I make my way to the bar.

  Taking a seat on the end, I flash a warm smile at the bartender and order a Sazerac.

  “A what?” The bartender’s eyes widen.

  “A Sazerac,” I say. “Absinthe, cognac, and bitters with a sugar cube.”

  He scratches at his balding temple, failing to hide his annoyance, and gives me a look that suggests he’ll do his best.

  “Wait,” I place my hand out. “I’ll just take a Corona.”

  He looks relieved as he waddles to a lit bar fridge and retrieves a chilled beer.

  “And who might you be?” Whiskey-scented breath heats the back of my neck, and when I turn to face my greeter, I find a man who clearly has no concept of personal space. “Never seen you around here before. You got a name?”

  “Leighton.” I sit up tall, turning my back toward him once more in hopes that he’ll get the hint.

  “Pretty name.” I hear a slow, drunken smile in his voice. “Where you from?”

  “Here,” I say, staring straight ahead.

  “I’d remember a face like that in a town like this,” he says, every other word slurring into the next. His rough hand finds my shoulder, and I stiffen. “Hey. I’m talkin’ to you.”

  I look toward the bartender, trying to wordlessly catch his eye. He probably knows this drunk bastard, and I need someone to sic him off me before I go off on him myself and make a scene.

  “You goin’ to talk to me or are you too good for me now? You think you’re too good in your … in your fancy shoes with your fancy hair?” The man’s tone grows agitated. “Your pussy’s no better than any other pussy in this fuckin’ town. You ain’t nothin’ special.”

  Heat creeps up my neck. I’d love nothing more than to turn around and knock out what remains of his teeth, but instead I stare ahead, choosing to ignore him as best as I can.

  “Don’t ignore me, you little bitch,” he growls in my ear. His words vibrate against my eardrum, sending shivers down my spine.

  My fist clenches and my eyes squeeze.

  And then the heat of his body disappears.

  “What the hell, man?” he yells. I turn around in
time to see him being pushed into an empty high top. He lands on his ass, and a few of his buddies chuckle from the bar.

  “You bother her again, you’re out of here.” A man, whose face I can’t see at the moment, stands over the drunk. “I won’t be so gentle next time.”

  The drunk bastard scrambles to stand, grabbing onto empty chairs. His expression is a bit delirious, but I think he got the message.

  My knight in shining armor turns to me, moving closer. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. He was obnoxious, that’s all.” I offer a smile, simultaneously trying to hide the fact that I’m checking him out.

  “Asa’s mostly harmless.”

  “I’m sure.”

  With a strong jaw, ice blue eyes, tanned skin, and coppery-blond hair grown out and tucked behind his ears, he flashes a disarming smile that disrupts the steady rhythm of my heart for a second.

  “Seth,” he says, resting his elbow on the bar counter beside me. His eyes haven’t left mine once, and there’s a gentle, easy way about him. “I own this place. Anyone bothers you again, you find me, all right?”

  I nod. “Will do.”

  “You’ve got to keep in mind, these guys don’t get out much. Coming here to grab a cold one and complain about the same old women they’ve been strapped to since high school is about the highlight of their weeks,” he says. “Not making excuses for them, but you come in here looking like that and you’re going to see the worst of them.”

  “Looking like that …” I echo slowly, one brow arched.

  He smiles, flashing a pair of the deepest dimples I’ve ever seen. “You’re a beautiful woman, that’s all I’m trying to say.” He points at me, chuckling. “Don’t try to get me in trouble when all I’m trying to do is pay you an innocent compliment.”

  Innocent compliment, my ass …

  God, he’s handsome.

  And now I’m blushing.

  I can’t remember the last time someone made me physically blush.

  Seth raps on the bar top to catch the bartender’s attention and motions him close. “She’s drinking on the house tonight. Anything she wants.”

  I lift my mostly-full Corona. “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”