Chemistry Lessons

Home > Other > Chemistry Lessons > Page 12
Chemistry Lessons Page 12

by Rebecca H Jamison


  He honked, but the bull only stood there, staring at him. None of the other animals moved either, and it was too muddy to drive on the shoulder.

  “Tanner,” Rosie said into the phone, “I’ve got to go. The Bells’ cattle are on the road to Morrisville. They must have gotten through the fence. I’ve got to call Mr. Bell.”

  She ended her call—that was a relief—and spoke to Destry. “Try driving closer to them.”

  He pulled forward until he was just a few feet from the bull. It still didn’t budge. “Looks like we’re going to be here awhile,” he said, trying to sound apologetic. The truth was, though, he wouldn’t mind spending extra time with her, even if it meant being surrounded by a herd of cattle for a week.

  While she called Mr. Bell, he stopped the car and gave himself complete freedom to eavesdrop. Although this time, it would have been easier not to pay attention.

  “They’re perfectly fine,” she said. “I just worry about them being on the road.” She listened to Mr. Bell for a while. “Okay, gotcha, well, we’ll do our best.” She ended the call and rolled down her window. Imitating a man’s voice, she yelled. “Ya’all get going.”

  The bull turned ever so slightly. Destry inched his truck forward. The bull stepped away from the bumper.

  “Come on,” Rosie yelled with a growl in her voice. Her cat spit and screamed inside its bag, scratching to escape, it’s little claws poking through the canvas.

  The steers and cows crowded against the ones up ahead. Rosie kept yelling, Destry continued to inch the truck forward, and eventually the bottleneck broke up. The cattle walked together down the hill, away from Destry’s truck. The only problem was that they were still on the road and going the same direction as Destry.

  “Are the cattle going to let us herd them back to the Bells’ ranch?” he asked.

  “Hard to tell,” Rosie said, rolling up her window. “They’ve walked at least two miles to get up here. I’d be surprised if they let us drive them all the way home.”

  “Two miles? That’s a long way.”

  “They’re just following their instincts. Animals always seek higher ground during floods.”

  Destry looked at the speedometer. They were traveling at less than five miles an hour. At this rate, it’d take more than an hour to get Rosie back home. He didn’t mind that at all. “I know it’s none of my business, but you ought to let Tanner get you a diamond.”

  “Why? They’re expensive, they get in the way, and aren’t practical for a rancher. Diamonds are overrated,” she said, the intensity of her words telling him how serious she was about this. “Do you know how they’re mined? Those poor men in Africa slave away for pennies while the rich moguls do nothing. I don’t want to support that.”

  As the cattle ran downhill, he put on the brakes to ease up on them a little. He didn’t want to create some sort of stampede.

  He had never heard a woman speak so passionately about the diamond trade. Not only did he agree with her, it made him wish all the more that she wasn’t engaged to Tanner. “There are a lot of other stones that are mined more compassionately. Rubies, emeralds, and sapphires are all nice.”

  Rosie shook her head. “It just seems so archaic—as if Tanner and I are going to own each other. We might as well wear ear tags like these cattle.”

  Destry laughed. “You make it sound like an engagement ring is some sort of medieval torture device.” He brought the truck to a complete stop and looked her in the eyes. She didn’t seem to comprehend the way a man feels about the woman he loves, or at least the way he should feel about her. Maybe Tanner wasn’t the perfect guy, but she should at least feel loved and valued as his future bride. How could he help her see that? “Do you want a man’s perspective?”

  She received a text and summarized it for Destry, ignoring his question for the moment. “Mr. Bell’s ready to block the road up ahead with his truck. Hopefully, the cattle will turn into his ranch when they get to his roadblock.” She slid her phone back into her purse, and pointed ahead to the cattle, who were slowing to a leisurely pace. “Better keep up with them.”

  Destry drove the truck forward at three miles per hour, following the cattle as they plodded along. She hadn’t agreed to hear a man’s perspective, but she hadn’t refused either. He jumped back into the subject before he had time to think better of it. “Tanner probably sees an engagement ring as a symbol of his love. It’s something you can keep with you always. Every time you see it, he wants you to remember how valuable you are to him.”

  “A plain gold band could do that just as well as a diamond.”

  He stopped the truck to look in her eyes. “True, but I think Tanner wants to give you a symbol that’s as unique as your love.”

  Rosie laughed and turned away to look out the window. “You sound like you might own a jewelry store . . . If Tanner really feels that way, I guess I wouldn’t mind a ring. I just don’t want a diamond.”

  “What about a citrine ring?” he asked, speaking his thoughts as they came to him. “It’s a clear, golden stone. You strike me as golden—like that little man who spins straw into gold.”

  She returned her gaze to his. “You mean Rumpelstilskin?”

  “Or King Midas.” There he’d gone again, comparing her to a man—make that two men. He paused, taking the time to think through his words before he spoke. He wanted her to see herself the way he saw her. “What I’m trying to say is that you have a golden touch with your animals. You take injured strays that no one wants and turn them into well-groomed, healthy pets. And then there’s the way you treat your grandfather. Everything about you is pure gold.”

  Rosie’s gaze flickered his way before she bent back over the bag of cat. “Thank you, Destry. No one’s ever said anything like that before. Most people think I’m crazy for taking in so many animals.”

  “There’s more about you that’s golden that I didn’t mention. You have a kind of shimmering beauty. You couldn’t hide it if you tried.” Maybe he’d gone a little overboard, speaking his thoughts too freely, but he wasn’t sorry for saying it. If all Tanner did for her was provide security, it was worth it for Destry to explain how he saw her while he still had a chance. Still, he decided to tone down the sentiment. “I’m not sure whether citrine would work for an engagement ring, though. It’s only a semi-precious stone.”

  She forced out a laugh. “Well, there’s no way I can get a citrine now. Every time I look at one, I’m going to think of how you said I have a shimmering beauty.”

  He stifled a smile. “Sorry. I’ll keep my mouth shut about the other gems. I wouldn’t want to ruin all of them for Tanner.”

  Chapter 14

  In silence, they followed the cattle to where Mr. Bell’s truck blocked the road. Flat ranch land stretched out on either side. As the rain slowed to a gray, misty drizzle, the sun broke through the clouds, casting rays of light down onto the grassy fields of emerald green. He had never seen this land look so beautiful, and he was beginning to get a glimpse of how Rosie could love it so much in all its extremes—why she wanted to own a piece of it.

  His attention was drawn back to the cattle on the road. Mr. Bell’s plan was to force them to turn down the lane that led to his ranch. But instead of turning, the cattle stepped off onto the shoulder, walked around his truck, and kept going in the direction of Morrisville.

  Rosie ran her hands through her hair. “Animals are so erratic during flood weather.”

  Mr. Bell ran on foot after his cattle. Rosie and Destry got out of the truck and followed behind.

  It took Destry a minute to notice that Rosie hobbled along on only one shoe. “Hold on,” he called, going back to his truck. He fished a pair of flip-flops from the cab and held them up for her to see. “You can wear these.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been so accommodating through this whole mess.” She took the spare flip-flops and put them on, but they were too big for her to do much walking.

  He wished she could see that his actions stemmed fro
m much more than just a desire to be polite. Sure, he knew all the right things to do when it came to social etiquette and business etiquette, but this was different. His comfort, his happiness had begun to depend on her own.

  Wearing his wet boots, he ran ahead. Since the cattle had already walked a few miles, it was easy to outpace them. He watched for the big bull, always keeping a few cows between them. Mimicking Mr. Bell’s actions, he extended his arms to the side, attempting to block the path of the cows. They stopped, as did the steers near Mr. Bell.

  Rosie, standing on the opposite side of the herd, managed to get a few of them to turn. With some more prodding, Mr. Bell turned the others, and soon the cattle sauntered back in the direction of their ranch.

  Rosie and Destry hurried back to the warmth of the truck. He removed his mud-covered boots, splattering mud onto the new upholstery, and set them next to the wriggling bag of cat.

  “I don’t think Clementine can stand another minute in this truck,” Rosie said, unzipping the bag. Clementine burst out and scrambled out of Rosie’s open door. She sat, watching her pet dart past the cows and disappear into the tall grass. “It’ll be easier on her to find her own way home than to sit in the truck for another hour.”

  “What about the river?” Destry asked.

  Rosie shut her door and turned to Destry with a resigned smile. “I’ve seen her up here before. There’s a pipe that goes across the river where she likes to sun herself during the summer.”

  Destry watched the cat dart through a hole in a nearby fence. “Everything’s an adventure out here.”

  Mr. Bell moved his truck out of the way, waving his thanks, and Destry turned the key in his ignition.

  Rosie pulled the seatbelt and clicked it tight. “Country life isn’t what you expected, is it?”

  He certainly hadn’t expected to meet a woman like Rosie. “I like it more than I thought I would.” He pulled forward along the road. “There are only a few things I miss.”

  “Like what?”

  He glanced over at her, making sure she wasn’t offended. Her wide eyes reflected only curiosity. “Like fresh crabs,” he said, “and used bookstores. I can still get books online, but I miss browsing.” The rain had stopped, and a pale rainbow peeked through the dark clouds. It felt natural to sit in the truck with Rosie, as if he’d done it a million times. What he wouldn’t give to do it a million more times.

  “When we get to Morrisville,” Rosie said, her voice brightening with excitement. “We should stop at Cottage Industries.”

  “What’s Cottage Industries?”

  “Only my favorite store.” She gave him a sly smile but didn’t elaborate.

  Destry spent the next twenty minutes wondering what Rosie’s favorite store would be like. He was certain they wouldn’t have fresh crabs, but maybe if he was lucky, they’d have a shelf or two of used books. He also pictured a place full of birdcages, kittens, and aquariums.

  Once they got to Morrisville, Rosie directed him to a house just west of the town’s center. It was a big old Victorian painted white with a clapboard sign hanging in front that said “Open.” Rosie pointed to the flowerbed of zinnias out front, explaining that her grandmother had recommended them to the owner.

  “Do you think they’ll mind if my boots are muddy?” Destry asked.

  Rosie gestured toward the oversize flip-flops she had borrowed from him. “As long as we’re wearing shoes, I think we’re okay.”

  Inside, the place was half tag sale, half craft store. It smelled of old wood and citrus. Rosie led Destry past some antique furniture to a room filled with vintage toys and trinkets. “It’s not exactly a bookstore,” she said, “but they have shelves of books here and there.” Together, they perused a stack of comic books. Destry found a Batman comic in a plastic, protective sleeve. “I would have loved this when I was kid.”

  “Are you a Batman fan?”

  “Not so much anymore.” He made his voice go deep, matching Christian Bale’s gravel and bite as Batman. “He’s too bent on revenge.”

  Rosie burst out laughing, just as he’d hoped. “So who do you like now?” she asked. “For a superhero?”

  He placed the comic back on the shelf, wishing this moment could last. “Spiderman. Who’s your favorite?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Captain America.”

  He should have guessed that. “Always rooting for the underdog. I like that about you.”

  Rosie sifted through a collection of skeleton keys in a big wooden bowl. “Someone has to.”

  They wandered into the next room, stocked with old farm tools and Western memorabilia. The musty scent of old newspapers, leather books, and oil engulfed him, but it was pleasant and not at all annoying. Sickles, gears, pulleys, and saws hung on the wall. Destry picked through a jumble of tools that filled a rusty old box—wrenches, hammers, and files—some still in very good condition. “I know what most of these are for, but what’s this?” He held up a curved apparatus that looked like it could substitute for Captain Hook’s prosthetic hand.

  “That’s for lifting hay bales. You stick the hook under the twine that holds the bail together.”

  He found something else that looked like a mix between tongs and scissors. “And this?”

  “Sheep Shearers.” She wandered to a shelf of paperback Westerns, holding up the first one she came to. “I thought you wanted to look at books.”

  “Not until I stump you.” He wondered how much extra time that could buy him with her. She seemed to be enjoying herself. He held a tool with a wooden handle attached to concentric metal circles, each with a sharp edge. “Now this is what I call a medieval torture device.”

  “That’s a curry comb. It’s like a back scratcher for horses. They love it.” She pointed to a tool at the top of the book shelf. “See that corkscrew-looking thing.” The giant tool had three metal prongs and looked something like a giant corkscrew. “I have no idea what that’s for.”

  Destry picked it up. “Neither do I.”

  Rosie motioned for him to join her. “So now you’ve stumped me. Come look at these books.”

  Destry hesitated to admit that he’d never read a Western. “Got any recommendations for me?”

  “What kind do you like?”

  He grabbed a copy of The Shootist. “I saw this movie once.” He put the book back on the shelf. “But to tell the truth, I haven’t read a lot of Westerns.”

  “I have. After you read a few, the women are all too sweet and helpless.” She picked one by Tony Hillerman off the shelf. “Here’s one I liked. It’s more of a Mystery than a Western.”

  So Rosie wasn’t a fan of Westerns either. He turned the book over to read the back cover. “This is set on the Navajo reservation.”

  “Yep.”

  He’d been wanting to learn more about life on the reservation. “Sounds good. I think I’ll get this one.”

  He followed Rosie through a room full of handmade items. Jars of jalapeño jelly, crocheted potholders, fluffy hair bows for little girls, and tole-painted wall décor all competed for attention in the tiny room.

  They walked down a short set of stairs to an enormous room that must have been added to the back of the house. It was obviously meant as a party room. A few picnic tables sat in the center while arcade games lined the back wall. Destry spied a game he recognized in the corner. “Is that Wrestle World?”

  Rosie grinned. “I played that for hours when I was a kid.”

  Destry dug in his pocket for a quarter. “Me too. They had one at our mall. I used to play while my mom shopped.” He walked to the machine. “You pick a character first. We’ll play tag team.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I guess we have time for one game.”

  Destry dropped in the quarter, and Rosie picked a character—Crush Master.

  Destry leaned in to select Max Smash and caught the smell of coconut in her damp hair. It made him want to linger.

  Rosie went first, giggling as she flattened their opponent with
a pile driver. “I forgot how violent this game could get.”

  “All this wrestling stuff is just an act,” Destry said as he took his turn, smashing the other guy with a few kicks and then throwing him out of the ring. “No one really gets hurt. We’re just doing it to entertain the audience.”

  Rosie threw her head back and laughed. Tiffany would have rolled her eyes. Of course, Tiffany wouldn’t have played the game in the first place.

  After more body slams and punches, they advanced to the next level, and then the next. Rosie wore a continuous smile as she pinned their opponents time after time. She looked gorgeous, her hair drying into waves, and he couldn’t help watching her instead of the screen. She had to nudge his arm. “It’s your turn. Don’t let me down. The fourth level is always the best.”

  Destry had no trouble winning the match. All he had to do, after all, was hit the punch and kick buttons at the right times. Rosie stood beside him, jumping up when he made a good move and covering her face when he lost points. She was so close, her arm brushed against his, and it set his nerves on fire. How many levels did this game have? He’d love to find out.

  On the fourth level, the opponents teamed up on them, pitting two against one. Rosie pursed her lips and let her nostrils flare. He loved to see her finally show her emotions, even if this was only a game. When his turn came, he couldn’t resist the urge to glance her way, trying to read her expressions as she watched him, hoping she felt some of the same attraction he did. She seemed more interested in watching the screen, though, and reached across him to push the buttons for him. Then she apologized, blushing. “Sorry. I tend to take over when I’m excited.”

  Destry stopped to watch the pink creep up her neck to her cheeks, wishing he could touch her smooth skin and kiss her lips. He barely heard the computerized music signaling that he’d lost his first life. “We make a good team,” he whispered as his character stood up and faced the opponents one more time.

 

‹ Prev