“That was my plan, but I picked up the wrong girl.” I shake my head. “She stood there with this attitude and I was like, ‘what’ and she pointed out that she was Savannah and not the other girl who I kept calling Savannah. Then she goes and tells me to call her Vanna. Can you believe that shit?”
“I can’t believe you picked up the wrong girl. That’s some mean shit, Ty.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, she sure showed me what her big city attitude is like. Girl needs to remember where she came from.”
Jeremiah laughs and beckons for a refill. “You gonna show her?”
I nod. “Bobby says she needs to work on the ranch. I guess she did some shit that her momma ain’t too happy with. Little Miss Savannah is gonna have to sling some shit.”
“I’ll be there to watch that. There’s nothing like a fine ass chick bending over to pick up some manure.” Normally I’d disagree with him, but knowing I’ll be watching her get dirty is pretty exciting. “What’d’ya say we take these two behind me out and show them a good time?”
I look over my shoulder at the two girls behind us and wink. A good time is exactly what I need to get my mind off of Savannah.
Chapter 4 – Savannah
My eyes squint, trying to block out the bright sunlight beaming through the windows. I can’t cover my face with a blanket or pillow because it’s too damn hot and I’ll suffocate. I’m going to have to ask Uncle Bobby to take me to town to buy some blackout curtains because I’m not going to be able to sleep once the sun rises.
I roll over toward the wall and open my eyes slowly. This was my room when I was little and nothing has changed. The bubblegum-pink walls are dull in color and in desperate need of being revived or painted a different color. My basket of My Little Ponies still sits in the corner from when I was seven. They were my most prized possessions and Tyler always tried to steal them from me. Why Aunt Sue kept them is beyond me. She had to know I was going to grow out of playing with plastic horses with multicolored hair. Unless Tyler still likes to play with them. That thought alone makes me giddy.
I can hear the dull buzz of a mower off in the distance. It’s something I don’t hear in the City unless I’m walking through Central Park or am at a friend’s summer home. Can’t say if I’ve missed that sound or not, around here it means work and that means Uncle Bobby and his ranch hands are already working the fields. Last night we didn’t talk about what chores I’d have to do. If I had my way, the list would be non-existent. It’s bad enough that I have to do homework and mail it in once a week. “Homeschooling” is what they called it when my mom was filling out the paperwork to send me here. It was the only option, because I refused to start a new school. If she’s going to send me away, I’m going to make it difficult on her. I thought I had outsmarted her until she told me that I have to pass the rest of my classes with flying colors or I wouldn’t be allowed to go to Paris in the fall, and I so want to go to Paris.
I throw back the sheet and blanket that’s covering me. It’s blazing hot and there’s no air conditioner in my room. That’s another thing I’m going to have to ask Uncle Bobby about. I don’t know how anyone can sleep up here with this stifling heat. Sleep evaded me last night because of the humidity and the noises from the outside. I’m used to horns honking and sirens every half hour, people yelling and gunshots being fired, not crickets and coyotes howling at the moon. I don’t want to be here and it’s not because I don’t love my aunt and uncle, it’s because this place isn’t for me. Maybe at one time I fit in, but that was another time. I’ve adapted, changed. I don’t know anything about haying or working a ranch and I definitely don’t have the necessary wardrobe to be here.
My feet touch the hardwood floor and I relish in the cool feeling of the old wood. I could sleep on the floor. I could move my mattress down here or even sleep outside on the covered porch like I did many times when I was younger. Uncle Bobby never liked that though and would sleep out there too, always afraid of a wanderer coming onto his land looking for a place to sleep or a day job to make some quick cash. No, I can’t imagine he’d agree to me doing that now, not after what my mom told him.
As soon as I’m halfway down the stairs, the smell of freshly baked muffins makes my stomach growl. I haven’t had a home cooked breakfast in years. Cold cereal or a bagel from the corner coffee shop is how I usually start my mornings. Lunch is cafeteria food or, if I’m feeling brave, the corner bodega when I shouldn’t be leaving campus. Dinner is also a solo affair. We’d have random maids who made sure something frozen was available, but the sit down dinners we had after church when we lived here ceased to exist once we moved to New York.
“Mornin’, Savvy,” Aunt Sue calls out with her back facing me. I stand in the doorway and watch her for a moment. She’s still as short as I remember. I used to ask Uncle Bobby how she could reach the top of the cupboards and he used to tease, saying that she was magic. It’s the same magic that fixed me when I had the flu or my teddy bear had a rip that needed to be sewn. Part of me still wants to believe she’s full of magic and can fix anything. Except for me. According to my mom, I can’t be fixed. I’m on the path to self-destruction and the only cure is going to come from hard manual labor.
The kitchen isn’t like I remember. It seemed smaller when I was a kid, but now it’s a large open space with a lot of natural light coming in. The counter tops that used to be robin’s egg blue are now wood and shiny. The cabinets are white, but don’t reach the ceiling. Resting on top of the cabinets are knickknacks and old mason jugs. A huge bay window affords whoever is standing at the sink an opportunity to look out back. I used to have a swing set out there when I was little but I’m sure that’s long gone. I can barely see the top of the white picket fence that divides the yard from the pasture from where I stand. I have a feeling I’ll be out there by lunchtime doing who knows what and complaining about it. Maybe if I’m lucky, schoolwork will be the only chore I have to do.
“Good morning.” She turns and smiles, until her eyes take in what I’m wearing. I cross my arms over my mid-section and look away. Everyone is always judging.
Aunt Sue shakes her head. “You don’t want to be dressing like that around here, missy.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, defiantly. No one has cared about the way I dress for as long as I can remember. Why should they start now? Even my very expensive private school mandated that we wear skirts and the ones that were issued were short. They dressed us like every pervert’s fantasy. This is common attire for girls my age, a cami and boxers. Heck most of my friends wear less to bed.
“Them boys outside are girl crazy and you’re ripe for the pickin’.”
“I’m sure they’re far too old for me, Aunt Sue.”
“Mhm,” she mumbles and turns back to the counter. “Uncle Bobby ain’t gonna be too thrilled to see you waltzing around here with no britches on.”
“These are my pajamas. What am I supposed to do, come down dressed to the nines every morning?”
She turns around and wipes her hands on her apron. Every memory I have of her is in this kitchen. Aunt Sue cooks for everyone and for every occasion. “Now, no one says you have to be gussied up for breakfast, just covered is all.”
I try not to roll my eyes, but I can’t help it. Everyone has something to say about me, whether it’s my grades, the way I dress or what I do in my free time. I pick up the carton of orange juice and pour myself a glass before walking to the window and looking out. It looks gorgeous outside and I can see myself lying out in the sun today, catching some rays.
My glass stalls at my lips as Tyler walks past. He doesn’t look my way, but stops by the window and yells at someone. I set down my juice and watch him. He takes off his hat and wipes his sweat with his forearm. I don’t know if Tyler is the guy my mom slipped up about or not but he’s definitely giving me pause. Not that I’d let him in on that little fact. I lean forward as he pulls the neck of his shirt over his head. The muscles in his back move in fluid motion and all I c
an think is that guys do not look like this in the City. Of course, guys in the city play soccer in their free time but guys out here lift hay bales for fun and race tractors. I sigh as he tucks his shirt into the back of his jeans and walks out of sight.
“Tyler…” his name escapes from my lips before I realize what I’m saying.
“Savannah,” I turn at the sound of my name to find a shirtless cowboy in the form of Tyler standing in my Aunt’s kitchen. She snickers and scurries away. I swallow hard and try not to stare but I can’t help it. He grew up nicely.
“What are you doing here?” I already know the answer to my own question, but I need confirmation.
“I’m the ranch hand here.”
My mouth drops open even though I had a feeling that was going to be his answer. He chuckles and shakes his head. This has to be whom my mom was so quietly talking about on the phone.
Chapter 5 – Tyler
My hand runs over my chest wiping away my sweat. I’m used to Aunt Sue seeing me like this – shirtless, sweaty and covered in dirt from working the ranch – but not women in barely-there clothing with their arms stationed at their sides and their lips pursed. Savannah swallows hard, making me wonder what’s going through her pretty little head. Is she sorry that she had to move or is she plotting my demise for not recognizing her yesterday? I bet she’s plotting my death. She sucks in her cheek in an effort to what – keep from smiling? Yeah that’s exactly what she’s doing. Savannah looks at me and rolls her eyes. If I weren’t still embarrassed about yesterday, I’d think it’s cute, her attempt to be prissy. Hell, she is cute, but I can’t be thinking about her like that. It’s not right.
By most standards, not enough time has passed for either of us to forget each other. I know that people change over time and maybe her more than me, but her transformation from the waifish, mousy girl she was is unbelievable, and her toes… what is it with her toes that keep me staring? I’ve never been one to think feet are cute, but damn if her toes aren’t painted pink against the tanned skin of her luscious, long legs, which are begging to be wrapped around my waist.
I chide myself for thinking of Savannah like that. I don’t care if our mommas had dreams that we’d be hitched; it’s never gonna happen. Women like Savannah don’t marry ranchers unless they’re looking to get away from some crazy ass life in the city, and I know from Uncle Bob that’s not the case here. Miss McGuire went and got herself into some trouble and has been sent back to God’s country to repent, because around these parts we don’t get in trouble. By looking at her she probably broke a nail and needed rescuing by the local fire department.
I’m not hiding the fact that I’m checking her out and neither is she. I see her pink tongue dart out and wet her lips while I stand in front of her. Everything in me says to look away, to go on about my business and leave her be, but I’m a man and she’s standing in front of me barely dressed, something her aunt and uncle aren’t going to be too appreciative of. Hell, I’m appreciative, but I don’t want to see her like this. I want her body to be left to my imagination.
“Put this on before your Uncle walks in here and drops dead of a heart attack.” Aunt Sue throws a pile of clothes at Savannah causing her to jump. The clothes land on her head and slide down to the floor and I stifle a laugh.
“It’s not funny,” she seethes as she steps into a pair of Aunt Sue’s sweatpants. They’re about ten sizes too big and do nothing to curb the thoughts running through my mind about her long legs. She glares at me before sliding the sweatshirt over her head and yanking the hem down roughly. Even with the oversized clothes on, she’s still gorgeous.
“Oh, I think it is.” I have to turn away because I don’t want her to see me smile. She’s cute when she’s angry and I don’t need her seeing that she has a positive effect on me. I busy myself by grabbing a plate from the cabinet and pulling out all the fixin’s to make my lunch. Aunt Sue provides the food. I provide the appetite.
“What are you doing?”
I turn my head over my shoulder and say, “I’m making my lunch. What does it look like?” Her expression is one of confusion. I don’t get this chick at all. She allows my name to murmur off her lips and has no problems with staring at me, but when I’m standing in front of her, she looks like I’m a foreign object to her. Of course, I’m no better. I finally have her standing in front of me and I say nothing. I just stand there and let her stare. Most men would be okay with that but I’m not. The past twenty-four hours have not gone the way I thought they would.
“It’s breakfast time, isn’t it?”
I look at my watch and shake my head, wondering what it would be like to sleep in until I could have a normal breakfast. “It is for people like you who don’t get up before the sun.”
“Can’t you go home and eat?” Her tone is one that I’d expect from someone living in New York City, hell from any city for that matter, and just like that I’m pissed. I’ve been around long enough to know when I’m being talked down to. It happens all the time when the chicks come waltzing into Reds looking for action, and thinking we’re all dumb.
I chuckle lightly and mentally count off the days until she’s out of here. If this is the kind of attitude I’m going to have to deal with when I come to work, I may need the damn summer off.
“I work here, eat my lunch here and if I have a hankerin’ for some of Aunt Sue’s supper, I’ll stay for dinner too.”
“So you’re always here?”
I turn around and lean up against the countertop with my ankles crossed. I take a bite of my sandwich and watch the frustration mask her beautiful face. “Ah, you askin’ ‘cause you’re interested?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
Savannah’s eyes go wide as she crosses her arms over her chest, except she really doesn’t have arms since she’s swimming in her aunt’s sweatshirt.
“Whoa, who’s this?” Jeremiah has impeccable timing as always. If he had walked in a few minutes ago, he’d see her in a state of undress and would be looking for a way to get her out to the barn to ride his tractor. That’s the last thing I want, him messing around with Savannah. He steps right up next to me with a piece of wheat hanging out of his mouth. He tips his hat toward her, only to be met with an icy glare.
“Well, if it isn’t Mouse.”
“Vanna,” she says, icily.
I pat him on the back. “That’s right, Mouse grew up when she started hanging out with the Yankees and wants to be called “Vanna”,” I add, watching her face morph into anger.
“I don’t care what this fine piece wants to be called, as long as the sound coming out of her mouth is my name.”
I laugh and wish he was joking, but he’s not. However, seeing the shock on her face as the words tumble out of his mouth are priceless so I don’t do anything to correct him.
“I didn’t think you liked ice cubes that much, Jer.”
“Oh, I’ll make her warm.”
“You’re really disgusting,” she seethes at us as she steps away. I can hear Sue in the other room trying to pretend she’s busy, but her laughter is giving her away. “You’ll stay far away from me or I’ll tell my uncle that you’re harassing me and you’ll get fired.”
“Doubt it,” Jeremiah says as he winks at her. “Seriously, Mouse, what the heck happened to your braces and brown hair?
She relaxes, dropping her arms to her sides. “What’s wrong with you guys? You grew up. I grew up. You weren’t all tall and… whatever.” She moves her hands in an awkward motion toward us, solidifying my knowledge that she’s been looking at me. The very thought makes me want to go pound out some push-ups or something so she has more to stare at.
“She wants us,” Jeremiah says with a straight face, causing me to choke on my lunch. Savannah turns, throws up her middle finger and walks out of the room, leaving us standing there, each with our own thoughts. It’s going to be a longer summer than I originally thought, especially knowing her and her big-city attitude are in full force.
Chap
ter 6 – Savannah
I officially hate my life. No, hate isn’t a strong enough word, but despise doesn’t seem to drive home what I’m feeling right now.
Loathe?
Resent?
Revenge? Yes, that’s what I want. Revenge. I want revenge on Tyler, Jeremiah and most importantly my mother. Not that I can come up with something clever or anything that would make a difference in my mom’s world to show her how much I hate my life right now because of her.
I look down at the pile of manure and let my gaze wander to my boots. No, they’re not even my boots, but my Aunt Sue’s pink muck boots with stupid brown horses on them. Every part of me is sweating right down to my toes. I rest my head against the pitchfork, but only briefly before the smell of cow shit assaults my nasal passage. I’m going to need so much therapy after living here. I certainly hope that Paris has some amazing doctors with the capacity to brainwash my memories.
I don’t know how people wake-up here every day and act happy. There’s nothing here. TV is questionable. No mall within a hundred miles. No internet. No air conditioning. No cell service. I’ve literally stepped back in time and the highlight of my life is going to be the once a week trip I’m allowed to take into town – wherever that may be – to email my school work. Lucky me!
“Savannah.”
I roll my eyes, pick up the pitchfork and move the steaming pile of cow shit into the wheelbarrow. I know I’m the laughing stock of the ranch, but I don’t care right now. Maybe in the back of my mind this was my plan all along – pack nothing but my summer wardrobe so they’re forced to take me shopping. Anything I can do to get off the ranch and into a civilized lifestyle. So what if my uncle doesn’t like my “daisy dukes” and crop tops? It’s a hundred freaking degrees outside. He’s lucky I’m not in my bikini right now.
American Honey Page 28