by Jillian Neal
“You are,” she assured him. “It sounds beautiful.” She would sit and listen to him talk about growing up in Nebraska for hours, fascinated with it all, but she never spoke of her life before the wreck. Something about their new arrangement, or the sunrise and his confessions, made her want to talk suddenly. “When I was a little girl …” She tried unsuccessfully to swallow down the pain. Brock’s lips sealed, and he stared into her eyes. He seemed to understand the weight of her story.
“Tell me, please. I want to know,” he encouraged quietly.
“Well,” she smiled. “One of the only things I remember about my dad was that he always talked about taking a trip out west. He wanted to see Montana mostly. Mama would promise that we would go when we had the money. Every time he talked about it, I wanted to go so badly. He always said everything was bigger there. It sounded magical to me. All of the wide open spaces, and the horses, and mountains. I don’t know. I’m sure there’s more to it than all of that. That’s just what I remember from his stories. I used to draw pictures for him of what I thought Montana probably looked like. I made all of the people huge in the picture.” Her laughter was haunted with memories she occasionally wished she could forget along with everything else she couldn’t quite seem to recall. She whisked away the formation of tears with a shrug. “Then the wreck and everything.”
“Yeah.” Brock nodded his understanding. “I know, and everything there is bigger. Not the people so much, but their hearts, maybe. The spirits and the souls there are huge.” He brushed a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I wish I could take you.”
“Yeah. That’s what he always said, too,” she admitted in a choked whisper.
“Hey, Hope, I’ve never asked before. We had our deal about talking about our pasts. You never seemed like you wanted to talk about your folks, but if you do, you can tell me. I don’t mind.”
“Thanks. My aunt wouldn’t let Skye and I talk about them growing up. I think I forget that other people are more understanding.”
“The offer always stands; whenever you need to talk, I’m here. And speaking of trips, I was thinking we could go to Yellow Branch Falls next weekend. I love to camp up there. You said you wanted to see a waterfall, and it’s the prettiest one around. If you hike a little off the marked trail you come to this amazing warm springs further up the mountain. You know, if you’re still thinking about skinny dipping with me.”
Beaming up at him, she laughed. “I’m definitely still thinking about that. Yellow Branch sounds perfect.”
“It’s several hours from here, and it’ll be a three-mile hike to the falls and then another mile beyond that to the springs. That okay? We’ll take it as slow as you need to.”
“I’ll be fine.” Hope prayed that was true. She was determined to do this. Besides, three miles wasn’t that far, right?
“You ready to go pack all of those books?” His smirk said he thought he’d be doing most of the work.
“I’m ready.” She elbowed him.
“Let’s get to it, and Hope, I think it’s really cool that we can agree to date and do a little exploration with no strings attached that would affect our friendship. You’re awesome. If all of this ultimately makes us closer, lets you talk about your folks, that’s a good thing, I think.”
“Yeah.” Hope tried to wipe the worry and regret from her tone. “Maybe so.” So, no strings attached is what he wanted. Apparently, thinking about her in panties or even fantasizing about her didn’t amount to much in the way of a long-term relationship. She probably would’ve known that if she’d ever actually had many relationships. She tried not to let his assertion sting as badly as it did. She was getting what she wanted. Wasn’t she?
Six
“I know, but you had to have read something besides all of those books they made us read in school.” Hope wasn’t letting it go. Brock was vacillating between thinking this entire thing was a terrible idea due to this very conversation and the fact that without the packing-up portion of this deal she never would’ve confessed that she wanted to sleep with him.
He set another box of books on the counter, turned, and grasped her shoulders so she was forced to stare up at him. “I know this is a difficult concept for you, darlin’, but I’ve told you a dozen times I hate to read. Most of the books they tried to make us read in school I just watched the movie, so I didn’t read those either. We gonna be okay with this?”
“Okay, okay. Sorry.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Good, now let’s finish this up. I’m hungry.”
She shook her head at him. “You’re always hungry, but if you don’t mind me going, I could run down to Mac and Molly’s and get us sandwiches.”
“I definitely do not mind you acquiring food, but let me give you some cash, because I’m starving.” He brushed his lips across hers. He loved the way she always grinned when he did that. That was going to be a difficult habit to break when this portion of their relationship was over. He could get very used to the taste of her lips.
“I think you may have a tapeworm.” She grabbed her purse before he could get his wallet out of his back pocket and stuck her tongue out at him. “But I’m buying.”
“Fine, but get a bunch. The tapeworm is hungry, and we’ll get to what you can do with that tongue later tonight.” He really needed to stop saying things that made heat blaze in her cheeks and streak downwards in fiery trails towards her breasts, but the charming seductiveness of making her blush was intoxicating. He’d been losing a battle trying to think of anything but taking her to bed since the moment he’d first kissed her the night before. His patience and resolve were rapidly dissolving. His body ached to show her everything he wanted her to know, and more than that, he wanted her to explore and to ask. He wanted to be able to teach her something for a change.
*******
Taking the dirt path instead of the shoreline towards Mac and Molly’s, Hope let her mind wonder as her eyes noted the slight changes that occurred on Gypsy Beach after Labor Day. The beach itself was no longer crowded with tourists. Hope preferred it this way, but tourists were the main source of the store’s income, so they were a necessary evil, she supposed.
She waved to Nate and Grady Havens as she passed their new marina. Grady’s girlfriend, Nadya, was soaking up the last of the summer sun on the deck of Grady’s new fishing boat, The Lucky Angel.
As Hope passed the Lobster Shack, she pushed all thoughts of the next day being Sunday out of her mind. She wanted to live in the present moment and to forget that her entire afternoon the next day would involve seeing her aunt.
She could see Pinky, the sweet old lady who ran the funnel cake shop, getting ready to close for the season. The Gypsy Wishing Well hadn’t been open in a week. Her eyes tracked further down the beach. Mystic Mermaids, Gypsy Beach’s own souvenir shop, was open, but didn’t have much business. The drug store, at least, had a few customers. That was something. When she narrowed her eyes, she could just make out Ryan and Sienna on the beach with Ryan’s little girl, Evie Grace, in front of The Gypsy Inn, Gypsy Beach’s own B&B and their home.
Brock and Hope had both received Ryan and Sienna’s wedding invitation a few days before. Rumors were flying all over the beach that Sienna was pregnant. Everyone knew everything about everyone else in the tiny town. You couldn’t keep much to yourself. Hope prayed the rumors were true. She loved their love story and thought another adorable little one would make their family complete. Ryan had said something about her being sick in the mornings when he’d been in the bookstore the day before. Hope grinned at that, but hoped Sienna wasn’t feeling too badly.
Before she could get too caught up in her daydreams, she’d arrived at the midpoint of the beach, everyone’s favorite hangout, Montgomery’s.
“Well, if it isn’t Gypsy Beach’s prettiest bookworm.” Mac Montgomery winked at Hope as she entered the coffee shop. She couldn’t help but laugh. She adored Mac and his wife Molly. They were two of her very favorite pe
ople.
“Would you stop calling her that?” Molly smacked Mac on his slightly protruding stomach. He feigned pain, making Hope laugh harder. “She’s adorable with or without a book in hand, and no woman wants to be called any kind of worm.”
“Well, I always have a book in hand, so I don’t mind.” Hope assured them both.
“What can we get for ya, sweetheart?” Mac picked up his order pad from the counter and flipped to a blank page.
“I’m feeding Brock, so you might need two sheets.” She explained as she studied the menu printed on chalkboards above the registers.
“Uh oh, now, Mr. Camden was in here getting you coffee this morning. You’re in here getting him lunch. Won’t take much to get the Gypsy Beach rumor mills a-flyin’. You better be careful. People start talking in this town. They’ll have you up and married with two and a half kids ‘for you know it.” Mac chuckled at his own joke.
Hope sank her teeth into her lip, not certain how she should answer that. “Well, we are kind of dating, just for a little while.” Hope! Do not tell the Montgomerys that you asked him to be some kind of boyfriend/sexual instructor. Stop talking now. She smiled to force her lips to stay together.
Molly looked delighted. “Not sure about that just for a little while part, but you’ll both come around eventually. Men are so stubborn.”
Shaking his head at his wife’s cryptic response, Mac offered Hope another smile. “Well, what would Gypsy Beach’s famed football receiver and his girlfriend for a little while like to eat?”
“Oh, you know he hates to be called that.” Now she was correcting Mac Montgomery. What was wrong with her? Shut up, Hope.
Mac’s chuckle made his kind hazel eyes sparkle. His grin eased the wrinkles on his face, making him appear ten years younger. “I did know that, and I’d never call him that to his face. So, you just don’t mention it, and we’ll be good.”
Hope nodded, relieved that she hadn’t offended Mac.
“Well, that’s what happens when someone with a good heart and a good soul lets somebody else convince their mind someum’s good for ‘um they know isn’t.” Molly retorted.
“Molly Ann.” Mac’s left eyebrow arched in warning. He shook his head again. “Go on, Miss Hope. What can we get ya?”
“Uh, Brock loves your loaded cheeseburgers and North Carolina pie. Can I get him two burgers, fries, and two slices of pie? I’ll just have a chicken sandwich, a slice of pie, oh, and I want a sweet tea, but he only likes unsweetened.”
“That’s cause he ain’t from around here.” Mac winked at her as he keyed the order into the cash register.
Hope’s mind was reeling from Molly’s declaration. Molly Montgomery was one of the original members of the Romani tribe that settled Gypsy Beach at the end of the depression. The travelling band had no where else to go. Food and work weren’t to be found anywhere nearby. They’d stayed at the beach because the fishing was prolific, and, according to the legends, there was already Gypsy magic on the shoreline left for them by Gypsies that had come before.
Molly was a young child at the time, but she somehow seemed to know things about people and what they should or shouldn’t do. They were usually things she would have no logical way of knowing. When Hope was a little girl, she’d thought Molly was some kind of good witch, like Glenda from Wizard of Oz. She seemed both mystical and wise, and she hadn’t lost that effect in the last twenty years.
Sienna Cooper had explained to Hope a few months ago that it was just the Gypsy in Molly, but Hope wasn’t certain she really believed that, either. Her own father was of full Romani heritage. He was a Gypsy, but Hope didn’t recall him having empathic powers. Truthfully, other than him wanting to take her to Montana, she didn’t remember much about her father at all.
She’d spent most of her life trying not to think about her parents. It simply hurt too much. She’d written them a letter when she was twelve, begging them to come back from heaven and rescue her from Aunt Cora. She wanted them to take her back to their tiny cottage house in the nearby town of Kirkland. She missed her life before the wreck every single day, but they weren’t coming back. When that thought had finally cemented in her brain, she willingly obeyed her aunt’s commands that she never speak of her parents.
Aunt Cora, her mother’s sister, hated her father and his Gypsy roots. She refused to ever let Hope or Skye attend the full-moon fires on Gypsy Beach or even be friends with people like Nadya, Leah, who now ran Mystic Mermaids, or any of the Havens brothers, children of full-blooded Gypsies, whom her aunt was certain were nothing but trouble.
The air infused with sautéing onions and the sizzling sound of Brock’s burger patties on the grill. It carried her back to the present.
Once she’d saved up enough money, Hope had purchased Bandana Books, the only bookstore on Gypsy Beach, mostly to annoy her aunt. Aunt Cora might love the Lobster Shack, but to her, its saving grace was that the chef and serving staff didn’t have Gypsy Heritage.
Giving herself a mental shake, Hope concentrated on Molly’s words again. What did she mean they’d both come around eventually? Come around to what? And what was all of that about hearts, and souls, and minds? Who was she talking about?
********
Brock pulled his phone from his pocket and grinned as he answered his cousin Austin’s call. “Hey, man. You must’a gotten thrown last night if you’re calling me this early. Otherwise there’d be a woman keeping your sheets warm, and I’d be the last thing on your mind.”
Austin laughed. “Only made it seven seconds, but no worries. That bull was nothing compared to riding Jennifer Cantillis for several hours after the show.”
Brock shook his head and tried to bury the agonizing pain that knotted his stomach whenever he thought about how badly he missed his family back in Nebraska. He’d give just about anything to get back there. He just had no idea how to make a trip like that.
“You’re so full of shit. She probably spent several hours rubbing your sorry ass with liniment before you passed out, but I’m guessing whoever made it the full eight seconds went home with her sister, Jessica.” The Cantillis sisters had been legendary in the Glen all through middle school. Personally, Brock was turned off by their forwardness and brash mouths, but he’d leapt at the chance to feel up Jessica after school one day in eighth grade.
“See, this is why you gotta come home, so’s I don’t have to keep you informed of what’s going on out Pleasant Glen. Jessica married Gil Gentry two years ago. She teaches Sunday school now.” He chuckled. “Still beautiful, but definitely settled down.”
“She married Gil Gentry?” Brock tried to envision that. Gil was a nice guy, but he was kind of a nerd.
“Yup, he makes big bucks at some tech firm in Lincoln. Far as I know, they’re happy. She’s always hanging all over him.”
Brock didn’t call his cousin on the fact that he sounded a little jealous. “How’s Uncle Ev and Aunt Jessie?”
“They’re good. Pops keeps wanting me to move back home. Swears he can’t keep up with the work anymore. If I don’t start making some money on this rodeo circuit, I might have to.”
“Trust me. There are worse places to be than on Camden Ranch.”
“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you ever come see us?”
Regret needled through Brock’s veins. Austin wasn’t lying. His uncle could surely use some help, but Brock had no idea how to get back to the ranch. Purchasing plane tickets wasn’t something he was capable of. Asking for help made him sick. That would be admitting far too much. He was letting his family down all because he was too stupid to figure out how to read. The lies and excuses came so easily he didn’t have to give them much thought anymore. “Wish I could. I’m slammed with work, lately. Plus, I’m sweet talking a filly of my own.” He doubted Hope would appreciate being called a filly, but to a cowboy that was a term of endearment.
Austin laughed again. “Understood.”
A second later something caught Brock’s eye. He ground his te
eth and glared hatefully out into the bookstore parking lot. “Hey, Austin, give everyone my love. I gotta go.”
“K, I’ll talk to ya later.”
Brock ended the call as he jerked open the front door of Bandana Books. This guy had a hell of a lot of nerve, and it was only serving to infuriate Brock further. “What the hell are you doing back out here? Trent, wasn’t it?”
“Where’s Hope?”
Brock took another predatory step closer. “I believe I asked you why you’re here.”
Trent seemed to realize suddenly that Brock wouldn’t even have to work up a sweat to beat him into the ground, so he wisely edged backwards. “I came to see Hope. Are you her keeper or something?”
“No, wise-ass, I’m not, but she doesn’t want to see you.”
“Fine.” Trent held up his hands and retreated another few steps on the porch. He glanced around nervously for a moment then shot another glare at Brock. “Can I just ask you something?”
Oh, this should be good. “What?” Brock huffed.
“Are you and Hope together, together? You know what I mean. Are you sleeping together?”
“So, do you walk around with shit on your nose all the time from sticking it in other people’s business, or what? Why the fuck would I tell you that?”