Country Nights

by Winter Renshaw

  “Did you get the bunkhouse painted?” Leighton whispers, not wanting to wake the sleeping babies.

  “It’s going to be years before they’re big enough to play in it,” I tell her. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”

  She smiles. “I can’t help it. I’m so excited for them. I think of all the fun I had growing up here, and I just want that for them.”

  A month ago, Leighton started nesting like crazy, insisting that we turn the bunkhouse into an outdoor playhouse and that I find a couple of old tires so we can hang swings from one of the old trees out front where she once played as a child.

  Crouching over the newest McCrays, I kiss all three of them on the tops of their perfect heads, and my heart overflows with joy and hope and peace and happiness.

  Leighton saved me.

  These babies healed me.

  And I’m never going to be the same after this.

  I’ll move heaven and earth to keep them safe, healthy, and contented. I’ll love them from the depths of my soul, to the end of the ocean and back.

  “They’re so perfect, aren’t they?” Leighton rocks them, humming a sweet lullaby a moment later.

  “Of course they are,” I say. “We made them.”

  “I mean, I don’t mean to be biased, but these are some beautiful babies.”

  “I won’t argue with that.”

  I glance around the room, painted in a sunny shade of yellow, and stop when I spot a small photo of her father, Rodney. While I’ll never get to meet the man who helped shape this beautiful woman into the resilient creature she is today, I hope I’m able to give him a sense of peace in knowing his daughter will forever be loved and cared for.

  “Molly’s dropping dinner off tonight,” I say.

  “That’s four nights in a row. How does she find the time?” Leighton chuckles. “I need to take notes from her. She’s got this mom thing down pat.”

  “So do you,” I say, admiring how good motherhood looks on her. She’s glowing and she hasn’t stopped since the day we found out we were expecting. “You’re a natural. You make this look easy.”

  “Stop kissing up to me and just kiss me already.”

  Resting my hand gently along her delicate jaw, I trace her bottom lip with my thumb before pressing a tender kiss against her mouth.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you more.”

  THE END

  Ramblings On Country Nights

  Growing up, I’d spend spring break plus two weeks every summer with my grandparents on their farm outside of Winner, South Dakota. Some of my most cherished memories are from those days: going on cattle drives, exploring abandoned homesteads, checking the cows, feeding the bucket calves, helping my grandmother in her garden, playing with the farm dogs, etc. The list goes on and on.

  While many “cowboy” or “western” romances are set in the deep south or places like Texas or Wyoming, I opted to place mine in South Dakota because that’s what I know. And when I think of farms and cowboys, big blue skies and wide-open spaces, that’s the first thing that comes to mind.

  This book, in many ways, was a love letter to my childhood. I tried to incorporate as many little details as I possibly could in hopes that it would keep my memories alive and make the setting feel as authentic as possible.

  For example, my grandparents had a little white bunk house outside of their barn where their hired men (usually strapping, college-aged guys :)) would often stay in the summer. It wasn’t anything luxurious and when it wasn’t in use, my cousins and I would get a kick out of “camping out” in the bunkhouse (which never lasted very long because … bugs and no AC). We also had tire swings that hung from a giant tree in front of the house, went fishing in the creek, and attended sale barn auctions. Going into town was always a big deal, and it was an even bigger deal with Grandpa, who would treat us to lunch at a local diner or buy us a candy bar and soda just ‘cause.

  All around my grandparents’ farm were old houses, long-since abandoned, and growing up my favorite thing to do out there was to explore them with my grandma. We’d oftentimes find old shoes, greeting cards, articles of clothing, prescription bottles, and sometimes even toys. One of the places we used to explore was an old gas station/library called the Keyapaha Store (pronounced kee-pa-ha, which I was always told meant “turtle”). There was also a “Peja Place,” a “Welch Place,” a “Snyder Place,” and a “Quick Place.”

  One summer, my grandparents had a hired man by the name of Guy Fasthorse. I can’t tell you what he looked like because it was a lifetime ago and I was very young, but I never forgot his name.

  But I digress.

  While River McCray and Leighton Hart’s story is pure fiction, the setting is rooted deep in my childhood memories, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed this authentic little piece of my heart.

  xoxo—

  Winter

  PS - I’ve included a few extras for you!

  1. Dream cast for COUNTRY NIGHTS.

  2. 25 random things about me (just for funsies).

  3. A two-chapter preview of DARK PROMISES (tentatively releasing in late 2017)!

  4. A bonus FULL-LENGTH second-chance/country romance (NEVER IS A PROMISE)! A $3.99 value!

  Dream Cast

  River – Dermot Mulroney (a younger version :))

  Leighton– Rose Byrne

  Grant – Alex Pettyfer

  Seth – Scott Eastwood

  Molly – Julia Jones

  Guy – Viggo Mortensen

  Aubrey – Nicola Peltz

  Renee – Diane Lane

  Jackson – Liam Hemsworth

  25 Things About Me

  I’m deaf in my left ear, and my parents had no idea until I was three.

  If I couldn’t be a writer, I’d probably pursue a career in interior design or makeup art. I live to create!

  I’m a Leo, though I feel more like a Cancer most of the time. (Proud homebody!)

  My favorite band is The Weepies, followed closely by Iron and Wine.

  Thunderstorms are my favorite kind of weather.

  I’ve watched SNL religiously for the last 20 years.

  I’m a total introvert. I could go weeks without human interaction and not even notice.

  I’ve been obsessed with names since I was 13. Imagine my dismay when my husband refused to give me free reign when it came to naming our three children.

  I’m related to T-boz from TLC by marriage. I met her once at a family reunion. She’s the sweetest!

  A psychic medium claimed my deceased grandfather told her I was going to be having twins … two weeks before I even knew I was pregnant … with twins.

  I literally cannot go to sleep at night until I’ve perused Ask Reddit. My favorites threads are the creepy/scary/freaky questions and the glitch-in-the-matrix posts.

  I love discussing a good conspiracy theory.

  My favorite movies are: My Best Friend’s Wedding, Interstellar, This Is 40, Lawless, The Others, and Magnolia.

  I’m a first-born, so I’m bossy, responsible, and ambitious.

  Organizing relaxes me. The Container Store is life.

  I could eat Mexican food 24/7/365.

  My celebrity crushes are Tom Hardy and Joseph Gordon Levitt.

  I’m a pineapple-on-pizza kind of girl.

  I’ve known my best friend since first grade. We are complete opposites when it comes to most things, but I wouldn’t trade her for the world.

  I’m terrible at small talk, sewing, and cooking most kinds of meat.

  I’ll never say no to a round of mini golf. And I almost always win. ;-p

  I love, love, love classic board games! Monopoly, Sorry, Life, Clue, etc. And old school NES!

  My favorite adult beverages are margaritas and sangrias.

  I changed my major several times in college: Fashion Design and Apparel Merchandising, Psychology, Human Development and Family Studies, and finally Liberal Studies so I could graduate! My el
ectives were mostly writing classes.

  If I could have any super power, it would be time travel. I’d give anything to be able to experience life from other perspectives and to live through certain major historic moments.

  Preview of Dark Promises

  Chapter One

  Rowan

  “Smile through it, darling.” My mother’s signature adage echoes in my mind as I bite my lip to keep from crying. The polished marble floor of Rhett’s master bath chills the bottoms of my feet. He’s pounding on the other side of the door, and I want to be anywhere but here.

  “Rowan, you okay?” His voice is muffled and distant, and yet it’s right there. “Talk to me. Unlock the door.”

  He doesn’t care if I’m okay, he only wants to ensure I’m not a liability.

  “Yes,” I call, squeezing my eyes until the burn subsides. I slip into clean clothes and gather my things in a hurry, shoving my toothbrush, mascara, and lip balm into my overnight bag before scanning the room one last time. Anything left behind will be thrown away, I’m sure. Rhett twists the doorknob, and I’m beginning to wonder who broke up with whom. “Be out in a minute.”

  Ten hours ago it was just another Friday night bent over his bed, my wrists secured with his necktie as he helped himself to my body. Rhett stole his pleasure from me as if I belonged to him, and I did belong to him. I loved him.

  Still do.

  This morning over coffee, he told me I looked sexy in his unbuttoned dress shirt, hair tousled in my eyes and his lingering taste on my tongue. And then he told me we were over. Just like that. Like we were discussing the weather. His senate campaign kicks off soon, and he can’t have any casual relationships sullying his whistle-clean reputation.

  I experience his words once more, letting them sink into the deepest parts of me all over again, and pressure builds in my chest. They were so abrupt; a zero to sixty ending for a zero to sixty beginning.

  “You knew this would come to an end at some point, right?” he’d said, lifting a coffee mug to his full lips. His sandy hair was neatly combed and parted on one side, and his suit jacket rested on the back of his chair, neatly folded in half. He was going somewhere; somewhere I wasn’t invited because our relationship has always been below the radar for a myriad of reasons; all of which I assumed were temporary. “What we had was fun, Rowan, but now it’s time to work. Fun’s over. You understand, don’t you?”

  The jostling handle quiets, replaced with heavy breathing on the other side. There’s a soft thump, as if he’s slumped against the outside of the door, then a moment later, the floor creaks.

  “Your cab’s downstairs.” His voice is low, ice cold. “Meter’s running.”

  So this is how it ends.

  I give myself another minute to gather my composure, take a deep breath, and sling my bag over my shoulder. Twisting the knob until the lock pops, I brace myself for what lies on the other side.

  Only it isn’t Rhett. He’s gone.

  His bed is made. His room is cold. All traces of us have been removed, including the vase of red roses he’d given me three days ago.

  When I reach the main level of his townhome, he isn’t there either. A taped note on the front door bears my hastily scribbled name across the front.

  Rowan,

  Forgive me for leaving. You must think I’m a terrible human being, but the truth is I’m just terrible at goodbyes.

  Eighty-four weekends ago we were two strangers in a bar, trying to escape our fates like we had any say in the matter. What you saw in me, I’ll never understand. But I’ll tell you now like I told you then, you deserve more than what I can give you.

  Someday you’re going to find a man who will make you forget I existed. And I’ll see you with him. And I’ll miss what we had. And it will hurt because we’ll be strangers all over again. But then I’ll smile because you’re happy, just like I knew you would be. And I’ll know that everything worked out for the greater good.

  I wish I could give you more of me. I’m sorry.

  Rhett

  It’s bullshit. All of it. I crumple the letter and toss it on the foyer floor. Politicians and heartfelt apologies are a glaring contradiction.

  But I can’t blame him for everything. Rhett Harrison was raging waters, and I dove in head first, knowing full well I couldn’t swim. I’ll let myself gasp for air. I’ll let myself feel the water in my lungs and the threat of looming darkness. Then I’ll thrash my way to the surface, choking and desperate to breathe, and I’ll be better for it. I’ll never let another man hurt me the way he did ever again. It’s going to take time, but I can do this.

  I can seal my heart until it’s airtight.

  But for now, I need to forget.

  I need to forget the burn of his lips on my skin, the pull of my hair in his fist, and the countless breathless sighs when he almost told me he loved me, and all those moments I silently whispered it back, like a fool.

  Rowan

  There’s a dangerous glint in Keir Montgomery’s eyes, and finding myself in the center of his attention is exactly where I want to be. Spinning my glass between my thumb and forefinger, I glance away, removing my stare from his broad, suited shoulders and facing the bartender instead. From the corner of my eye, I observe as he moves closer to me, my intentional disregard luring him in like a magnet.

  A moment later, his presence fills my periphery as he stands beside the empty bar stool on my left. I lift my crystal tumbler to my lips, pretending I don’t notice him when every fiber of my body is reeling. I’m practically sending out shockwaves over here, but my exterior is a crafted shade of calm.

  “Excuse me,” his voice is carried through sensual lounge music and followed by the invasion of his old-moneyed cologne into my lungs.

  “Yes?” Glancing up, I meet his gaze, blinking once as I stare at him through dark, painted lashes.

  I pretend not to notice the swarm of Secret Service Agents flanking his sides. And now mine. I pretend his familiar face doesn’t register and that I haven’t seen his obsidian hair or crystalline blues in hundreds of photos before. I pretend not to know he’s the youngest son of the President of the United States. I pretend he’s just any other guy in any other bar in any other city.

  And I pretend I didn’t come here looking for him.

  “Is this seat taken?” He asks the question as if the answer doesn’t matter, as if he has no problem taking exactly what he wants even if it belongs to someone else.

  My heart flutters for a fraction of a second, and my eyes flick from his wickedly handsome smirk to the seat and back.

  “All yours,” I say, taking my time and swiveling my stool until I’m no longer facing him. Fighting a smile, I brace myself for the inevitable pat I’m going to feel on my shoulder any moment now.

  Drawing in three breaths, I wait for a tap that never comes. The bartender hunches over, resting on his elbows as he yells above the music. The president’s son orders a drink. Whiskey. Neat. The restless stir of impatience floods my center, but I refuse to let it ruin my strategy.

  All I need is one night with him. One night to feel alive. One night to feel desired again. One night to rebel against everything I ever thought I was.

  Two weeks ago Rhett walked out of my life, and my heart has been screaming to forget him ever since. It hasn’t been as easy as I thought it was going to be. And that’s why I’m here.

  I observe from the corner of my eye as the man fixes Keir’s drink at warp speed, delivers it on the house, and then stops short in front of me.

  “Would you like another, miss?” he asks, thick brows lifted as he points to my empty glass.

  “Please.” I slide it his way. He swipes it from the counter and shuffles down a few spots.

  Rapping my fingertips against the counter, I wait for my refill, finish half, and contemplate my Plan B because I don’t have all night. If Keir didn’t just infiltrate my space for the sake of hitting on me, I’ll have to take a different approach. Gathering my black satin
clutch, I unsnap the top and pretend to check my phone. When I’m sure he’s watching, I slide my bag under my left arm and gracefully slide off the stool.

  Striding across the dark-as-midnight Goldsmith bar, I dip into the ladies’ room to buy some time. Touching up my lipstick and powdering my nose and dabbing perfume onto the backs of my wrists and behind my ears, I check the time on my phone and wait an extra minute before reemerging.

  Keir has a reputation. He’s a womanizer with a healthy appetite for casual liaisons. I’ve done my research. I know where he frequents; Goldsmith being his signature hang out followed by Greenbrier. I know his modus operandi. I know what turns him on, and I know what makes him run for the hills.

  It’s now or never.

  Either this is going to happen. Or it isn’t.

  And I really, really want this to happen. I need this to happen for reasons no one could possibly begin to understand. I need his hands in my hair. His lips pressed hard against mine. My body pinned beneath his. I need him driving himself into me again and again, so hard I forget my name. Forget where I am. Forget why it hurts . . .

  Giving myself a final once-over in the mirror, I tuck a blonde wave over my right shoulder and pull the door wide.

  Almost instantly, my lips draw up in the corners and our eyes meet. “I was wondering when you were going to make your move.”

  “You’re a distraction,” he says, his eyes wild and trained on me.

  I smirk. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I came here for a drink. Was supposed to meet someone,” he says. “And then I saw you.”

  I try to contain the frivolous satisfaction building deep in my chest before it radiates from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

  “Bold,” I say, pushing past him. If this is going to work, he needs to chase me. Men don’t like to be pursued, especially men like Keir.