Country Nights

by Winter Renshaw

  “What’s your name?” he asked in his slow Southern drawl.

  “Dakota,” I said, before pretending I didn’t know his. “Yours?”

  “Beau.”

  The tardy bell rang as we ran down the empty halls. Normally I’d have been freaking out about being late for class, but in that moment, I couldn’t have cared less.

  “Where are we going?” I giggled like the shamelessly giddy schoolgirl I was.

  He stopped us short of a side door to the cafeteria kitchen. Everyone knew students weren’t allowed in there, but he just walked in there like he owned the place.

  “Gramma,” he twanged. His full lips twisted into a mischievous smile, suddenly showcasing the slanted scar above his upper lip. “You still here?”

  “Beau, baby, is that you?” A hairnet donning woman with a jovial smile and generous plump curves appeared from behind a prep counter. She appeared to be more amused than anything else. “What are you doing in here, boy?”

  “Need some ice, Gramma.” He nodded toward me, and I suddenly realized we were still holding hands.

  The white-haired woman grabbed a plastic sandwich baggie and went to the freezer, filling it full of ice and handing it to him.

  And then he dropped my hand, making me realize just how quickly you could miss something you’d only had for a tiny fraction of your short little life.

  I reached for the bag, but he pulled it away, opting to place it over my lip for me, as if I couldn’t do it myself.

  I drew in a tight breath when the freeze burned my cut.

  “You two better get to class,” his grandmother warned. “Beau, you know you can’t be in here.”

  He flashed her a teasing smirk and leaned across me, grabbing two fresh cookies off a hot baking tray and slipping one into my jacket pocket.

  She swatted at him with a dishrag, “Now you stop that, boy. You know darn well those are for lunch.”

  I took the makeshift ice pack from him and gave my lips a break from the cold as I followed him back out to the hall.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked.

  “Second floor. Room twenty-three.”

  “I’ve got gym.” He lingered a bit, his golden gaze dropping to my lips again. He lifted his callused, son-of-a-farmer hands to my mouth, running his fingertips over the cut and sending a shower of sparkling excitement into my every fiber. “Let me walk you to class.”

  “But the gym is on the other side of the building.” It didn’t quite register that he was showing interest.

  Shut up, Dakota. Let him do it.

  He shrugged a single shoulder as the corner of his lip raised, showing off a single deep dimple in his cheek. “I’m already tardy. What’s another couple minutes?”

  “We’re going to get detention if they see us in the hall together without passes,” I said, ever the nerdy, goody two-shoes.

  “You haven’t had detention yet?” he asked as we walked toward the stairs.

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s practically a rite of passage. Everyone needs to get detention at least once.” He slipped his arm around me as we walked. “All the cool kids get detention.”

  An inward cringe took over me. I was not a cool kid, nor would I ever be. To Beau, I was just a new face around school, but I knew how everyone else saw me. Soon enough he’d find out I was a dorky girl with clothes that didn’t fit right, and he’d move on to a cheerleader or beauty queen type who’d better suit his impossibly cool reputation. I’d seen the way everyone always looked at him. The guys wanted to be him and the girls would kill for a date with him. Even from afar, I saw how he made everyone feel like they were the only person in the whole entire world, and experiencing it firsthand, I got it.

  “Thanks,” I said as we stopped outside my English class.

  “Sorry about your lip,” he said.

  “It’s okay.” I stared up at him through my lashes. He could’ve done a lot worse to me and I’d have forgiven him ten times over. That was the kind of power that boy had over me, and I’d only known him all of ten minutes.

  “Maybe when that lip is all healed I can take you out,” he said, forcing my stomach to fall to my shoes and a Christmas morning smile to capture my lips. “What are you doing this Friday?”

  Nothing.

  “I don’t know,” I said, digging my toe into the linoleum tile. I’d never been asked out before, and I didn’t have the slightest idea if I was supposed to pretend to be busy or how to act like I wasn’t ten seconds from freaking out right then and there.

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Going out with you, Beau’,” he teased.

  I laughed, hanging my head as my cheeks burned hot from the attention he was giving me.

  “I need to get to class,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet his. My teeth raked against the cut of my bottom lip, tasting dried blood and reminding me how awkwardly uncool I probably looked right then. But I didn’t care.

  Beau stood, locked in place, as he watched me disappear into my classroom. And just like that, he’d captured a part of me that would never let go as long as I lived.

  Chapter Six

  Gravel crunched outside the barn as I shoveled clumps of dirt and hay to make way for fresh stuff. The sun had come up just an hour before, but I’d been working outside since just before dawn. I wiped the thin layer of sweat off my brow and headed out to the front of the house, driving my pitchfork into the earth and ambling toward Dakota.

  “Surprised the place isn’t locked up like Fort Knox,” she said, climbing out of her car. She turned back, glancing at the long, tree-lined drive. “I was expecting a gate at the very least.”

  I squared my jaw and shrugged. “All I need are a few cameras and a couple of ‘no trespassing’ signs. Most folks out here leave me alone. The locals are pretty protective. It’s the outsiders I’ve got to worry about.”

  “You don’t worry about stalkers?” she lifted a single arched brow.

  “My fans are good people, Dakota.” I smiled and slipped my hands into my front pockets. “I get a lot of folks that drive by, but no one’s ever come up and bothered me. I’ll put a gate in soon I suppose. Not that I particularly need one.”

  She cocked her head to the side and gently closed her car door, and the heels of her fancy boots sank into the earth as she walked toward the back.

  “Need help?” I offered as I watched her pull out heavy bags from her trunk. My offer went unanswered, but I took the luggage from her grasp anyway and hauled them up to the front porch.

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to help me.” Her words were equal parts polite and curt as she brushed dark hair from her eyes. Dakota leaned back into her car and retrieved a purse, a notebook, and a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “You ready?”

  Massaging the back of my neck and squinting toward her as the sun held a spot just above her head, I laughed. “I’ve got to clean out that barn over there first. Go on inside and get changed.”

  “Changed?” She stared down at her pointy city boots and ran her hand down the frilly pink blouse she’d decided to wear to the ranch that day.

  “You can’t walk around here in that.” I lifted my hat and ran my hand along the top of my head before replacing it. “Looks awfully expensive. Probably don’t want it getting dirty.”

  “I’m not doing farm work, Beau,” she said. “I’m here to interview you.”

  “Can’t we catch up first? You used to like watching me do chores.”

  “Don’t you have people you can pay to clean out your barn?”

  I pursed my lips and shrugged. “I like doing it. Makes me feel like me again. At the end of the day, I’m just a salt of the earth guy, Kota.”

  “Fine,” she said, squaring her shoulders as she scanned the view over the rolling hills that surrounded us. “I’ll throw on some jeans. But I’m not shoveling manure.”

  “Not a problem. No animals have lived here in years,” I said.

  She scrunched her brow as if to ask for an explanation
. Back when we were together, Mason Ranch was one of the biggest in the tri-county area. My father farmed corn and soybeans and raised Angus cattle and bred horses and chickens on top of it all.

  “Dad died two years ago. Mom sold the livestock. I bought out the acreage. I can go on, but you’ll probably want some of this for your interview.”

  “I-I had no idea,” she said, blue eyes softening just a tad. “I’m sorry about your father.”

  Dakota and Dad were close once. He looked at her as if she was his third daughter, calling her his bonus kid. She never knew her dad, so he was the closest thing she’d ever had. The day he died, I tried to find her to let her know, but all my searches for “Dakota Andrews” came up empty. I’d always chalked it up to her not wanting to be found, and a part of me never could blame her.

  “Did you do any research before you came up here?” I wiped my brow with my forearm. “On me?”

  She shook her head. “Didn’t have time.”

  “I see.”

  I retrieved my pitchfork as she headed inside, coming out a short while later dressed in fitted blue jeans and a faded University of Kentucky t-shirt. Her long, dark hair was swept up off her neck and piled high on top of her head as if she was trying to convince me she wasn’t trying.

  “Go Cats.” My lips tugged into a smile. I liked this version of her – the one without the fancy clothes and stick up her ass. She lifted a digital recorder in the air and held her thumb over a red button.

  “Ready?” she asked. Even dressed down, she was the epitome of professional. It appeared as though she didn’t have an “off” switch anymore.

  A thousand times I’d imagined what it would feel like seeing her again, but looking at her now was like staring into the eyes of a stranger. Someone who reminded me of a woman I used to know.

  “Fire away.” My hand slid up the worn wooden handle of the pitchfork as we headed back toward the horse barn. I happened to be in New York doing a show the year before when I woke early enough on Saturday morning to catch some network morning show. That’s when I saw Coco Bissett. My Dakota. Hidden in plain sight all these years.

  “What are you doing with this thing anyway?” she asked as we stepped inside, peering into stall after empty stall.

  “A few months from now, this’ll be a fully operational horse farm.” I glanced through the dust-specked streams of light, envisioning how it might look when it was all fixed up. “Going to breed some Tennessee Walking Horses. Maybe some Morgans and Fox Trotters.”

  “What’s Cybil up to these days?” Dakota asked. She and Mama never hit it off that well, though it was nothing personal. Mama was too protective of her only son, and Dakota was too damn sensitive. All she ever wanted was for everyone to like her, and she never believed me when I told her most people didn’t even like themselves.

  “She’s living in Louisville with Calista,” I said, referring to my oldest sister. “Calista’s married to some corporate attorney now and has a bunch of kids. They keep her and Mama busy.”

  “How’s Ivy?” Dakota asked, tilting her head to the side as a two-second sweet smile claimed her mouth. Ivy always made everyone smile. “She and Addison sort of lost touch over the years.”

  “Ivy,” I drew in a hard breath. “She’s hanging in there.” I glanced down at the worn toe of my boot. “She lost her husband in Iraq last year.”

  Dakota’s face fell as she covered her heart with her hand, taking a step back.

  “She’s a single mom now. Two kids. Miles and Gracie,” I said, scooping up a pitchfork full of stale, rotted hay and depositing it into a wheelbarrow just outside the barn. “They still live here in town. They come over quite a lot.”

  Whether we liked it or not, we had a history that spanned most our lives. Our past was interwoven and tangled. Messy and complicated. She could act like she didn’t give a damn all she wanted, but I knew better.

  “How’s Addison?”

  “She’s getting married in a couple weeks,” Dakota said.

  “You approve?” I cocked my head her way, lifting an eyebrow. Back in the day, Addison never did anything without Dakota’s consent. And Dakota governed over Addison’s life choices like the mother hen she was always forced to be on account of their own mother’s detached style.

  “She’s a big girl. She can do what she wants.” Coco stepped carefully toward a rusting gate and took a seat on one of the paint-peeled bars. “I like him. He’s good for her. His dad’s a realtor here in Darlington if you ever need one.”

  “Thanks for the recommendation, but I’ll be living out the rest of my days right here on this ranch.” I scooped up the last of the hay and leaned the pitchfork against the wall of the barn, dusting my hands across the thighs of my jeans before heading back outside.

  “Where are we going?” She followed behind, watching carefully where she stepped the way she used to do. Old habits died hard.

  “Inside for a glass of iced tea,” I said, striding toward the house. For every step I took, she took two. I’d forgotten how small she was compared to me.

  I pulled the screen door open and held it for her, reaching down to greet old Ruby, who was sunbathing on the front porch. “Hey, girl.”

  She licked my hand, her vibrant golden coat fading into a blast of white around her muzzle, like someone had blown a handful of dandelion seeds in her face.

  “Is this…” Dakota stared hard at the aging puddle of golden retriever sitting by the front door. “This isn’t Ruby, is it?”

  “It is.” I ruffled the top of Ruby’s head, and she smiled the way a senile dog might, pulling herself up and gimping after me as she followed us to the kitchen.

  “How old is she now?” Dakota leaned down to pet Ruby, gently running her fingers through her soft fur.

  “Eleven? Twelve, maybe?” I’d stopped counting the year her face turned white. I pulled two glasses from the cupboard and dropped a handful of ice in each.

  Dakota couldn’t stop staring at Ruby. “I remember when you first got her. We picked her out together down at the Janssen’s farm.” Her voice faded out like a distant memory. “She fit in the palms of your hands.”

  Ruby slowly lowered herself down, her fluffy tail wagging and sweeping the kitchen floor. She was going blind and probably couldn’t see Dakota, but she seemed grateful for the attention anyway.

  I poured our tea and took a seat at the head of the table.

  “We good on catching up?” she asked.

  “My, my,” I took a sip of tea. “Someone’s trying to rush things. Don’t you know we do things a little slower out here? Or have you forgotten.”

  She cracked a smile, but only for a moment. It faded fast as she settled back in her seat. “I’m only here a week, and we have lots to cover.” She sat the recorder in the middle of the table between us. “So, let’s just start from the beginning.”

  Her light mood faded, taking Dakota with her, and judging by the newly hardened expression on her face, Coco the broadcast journalist had apparently stepped in to take over.

  “The beginning as in…”

  “Take me back to that first contract you signed,” she said, our eyes locking.

  I lifted a single shoulder. “You were there. You could probably tell the story better than I could.”

  She clicked off the recorder, her fingers fumbling in haste. “Beau, you need to leave me out of this. This is about you. Not me. Not us.”

  “Impossible. You’re a part of this whether you like it or not.”

  I reached across the table and clicked the recorder back on.

  Chapter Seven

  14 years ago

  My stomach churned as Beau took my hand, leading me into the big white farmhouse the Mason family called home a couple weeks later.

  Please like me.

  “Mama,” he called out toward the kitchen. “I want you to meet someone.”

  He gave my hand a squeeze and pulled me to where a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair and a permanent scowl s
tood stirring a pot on the stove. She wiped her hands and spun around, her face falling the second she saw me.

  My stomach dropped clear to the floor, and my free hand flew to my long hair, spinning a strand around my finger out of nervousness. Beau nudged me, and I immediately extended my right hand. “I’m Dakota Andrews, Mrs. Mason. Very lovely to meet you.”

  She shook my hand, eyeing me, studying me. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

  Her question was more along the lines of “I need to know so I know how much food to cook” as opposed to “We’d love to have you join us for dinner.”

  I glanced over at Beau, lifting my eyebrows. We’d gone on a few dates but things had been picking up in intensity lately, and he’d been dying to bring me around the house so his parents knew who he was running off and spending time with after chores each afternoon.

  He squeezed my hand again and nodded. “She sure is.”

  I endured a long dinner, fielding pointed questions from his judging mother, stares from his PMSing older sister, Calista, and teasing from his lighthearted father. Beau, his father, and his younger sister, Ivy, warmed up to me, but it was as if the judgmental stares and disapproving looks from the other two overrode everything good about that dinner.

  “May I help you clean up?” I offered as everyone began piling the dishes together after finishing up their strawberry shortcake desserts.

  “No, Dakota,” his mom said with a bit of bark in her tone. She spoke to me as if I were a burden, as if she resented the fact that I just popped in and took a seat at their family table. “You’re company. Company don’t clean up in our house.”

  I smiled, blinking away my overly sensitive tears as Beau led me outside. I’d tried to be on my best behavior. I tried to present myself in a good light. I tried to be the kind of person I’d want my son to be with, but it all seemed for naught.