by Laura Drake
I slide up behind her. “Sweet, aren’t they?” I put my arms around her rib cage, and drop my chin on her shoulder. “We started this gig back in high school, and we’ll look like that at our fiftieth Sadie Hawkins Dance.” Her perfume wraps around me, the same one I’ve given her every Christmas since high school. It blends with her own scent, so potent I go insta-hard.
She stiffens under my hands. “I’ll probably still be single then.”
“Aw, come on, Tig. We’re gonna get married.” I sweep an arm over the crowd. “The whole town knows it.” I cup my hands around my mouth and whistle loud enough to be heard over the band. Heads turn. “Hey! Y’all know I’m gonna marry my Carly, right?”
Cups of beer and voices are raised in a chorus of Hell yeah’s, along with a few wolf whistles.
I love it when she blushes. “Stop.” She slaps my bicep. “You’d have to ask me, not the whole town, you fool.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot that part.” I put on my most charming smile and hope she lets the subject slide. A little distraction would help. I grab her hand. “Come on. I want to dance with my girl.”
She may be peeved with me, but like every other time we’ve danced, the world clicks off, and it’s just her and me. The fairy lights are pretty, and I spin her every few steps until she’s smiling again. When I move wide to avoid the Hansens, she moves with me, perfectly in sync, just like always. I love dancing with Tig.
But when she looks up at me, there’s a wrinkle in between her brows. “Austin, we need to talk—”
“I have a surprise for you,” I whisper in her ear. I don’t think to do surprises often, but when I do, they’re memorable. The last one involved some of Victoria’s Secrets, on top of the water tower. Oh yeah. Memorable.
“What is it?”
“What, and ruin the surprise?” I nip her ear, and she squeaks. “You’re gonna have to miss church, though. I’ll pick you up at eleven. You just be ready for a picnic.” I tuck her head back on my shoulder.
The surprise won’t be what she wants. But I can only hope it’ll be enough for now. She’s wanted me to come off the road for years. To get married, then start our family, and our rodeo rough-stock business. It’s what I want, too. Just one more year on the circuit. I mean, a man has to stockpile a bunch of stories to tell his grandkids when he’s too old to do more than rock on the porch, right? Rodeo is what I was made for. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since I could walk. And I’m good at it. I’ve put away a nest egg—maybe not as big as some, and maybe not as much as we’ll need, but I’ll fix that in the coming year. I’ll win it all. Then we’ll get married.
Because I’ve got the world’s best prize, waiting at the end of the rodeo road. My Tig.
The music ends, and with one last spin, I lead her away. “I’m thirsty. You want a beer?”
“I could drink one.”
We get in the snaking line for the Elks’ beer booth.
“Hey, Austin, you going to ride Ruidoso this year?” Steve Seaver asks from halfway up the line.
“I’ll be there.”
Manny Stipple, just ahead in line, breathes a fog of alcohol over me. “Didja bring home a buckle from El Paso dis year?” Clearly, he’s been to see Carly’s Papaw.
“Nah, not this year.” I shore him up with a push to his right arm. “Sure you haven’t had enough to drink, sir?”
“Pssssht.” Manny waves me off, nearly dumping himself in the dirt. “You may be a good rider, but I get the buckle in drinkin’, ever’ time.”
I pull my hand back but stand ready to catch him if he falls. “I wouldn’t dispute that for a minute, Mr. Stipple.”
“Heyyyyy, Auuuustin,” a group of junior high school girls chorus, strolling by.
I tip my hat and they giggle behind their hands.
Tig tucks her hand under my arm, and I lay my hand over hers. I’m about the luckiest guy on the planet. Home, at a dance where I know everybody and my girl on my arm. I take in a deep breath of spring, beer, and Carly.
It doesn’t get any better than this.
Two hours and two beers later, we’ve made the rounds of all our friends and I’ve danced with Carly’s Nana and just about every old lady from hereabouts. I cut in on Carly and Jake Parsons, just before “Amarillo by Morning” ends. I lead her off the dance floor, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling in the lights. I lean in and whisper, “This is nice and all”—I nuzzle her neck—“but I’d really like to spend some alone time with this wild redhead I know.”
She flips her hair off her shoulder. “Who you callin’ wild, cowboy?”
“I ride wild for a living, remember? I should know.” God, she’s adorable. I put an arm around her neck and pull her to me. I’ve been wanting a kiss forever. And trust me, Carly can kiss. I mean, I’ve never kissed another girl (except that time in sixth grade), but I don’t need to. Carly pours herself into a kiss, holding back nothing, giving everything. Makes me want to pull her under a tree and do what comes naturally.
She wants it, too, because she shoots a look over her shoulder to be sure no one is watching, then grabs my hand and tugs. We’re running through the shadows, laughing. We both know where we’re going—and in my bed, we’ll get there.
* * *
Carly
Hours and hours later, in Austin’s iron bed in the apartment above the defunct Tanya’s Togs, I stretch amid the rumpled sheets, a pillow under my shoulders. I’m sleepy, sated, and a bit smug. Every time with Austin is as amazing as the first (without the parking brake in the small of my back). He has a laser focus, and just remembering the things he does makes a blush of heat radiate from my girly parts. Since Austin is my first and only, I’m not an expert, but surely no man could be better. Most of the time I’m afraid I’ll faint from unending orgasms.
The streetlamp lays a strip of light across the bed, spotlighting the delicate skin at the apex of his thigh. I love that place. I want to spend more time on that place. I sigh. “I’ve got to get home.”
Austin’s forearm drops onto my rib cage, and his fingers curl around the outside of my breast. “Nah.” His voice is slow and sex-drugged.
“Nana will worry.” I glance out the window at the black sky. “I’ve got to at least text her. The dance has been over for hours.”
He groans when I sit up and reach for my phone on the nightstand. I’m with Austin. I’ll be home in a couple of hours.
Within seconds, her answer buzzes in my hand.
Well, duh.
I drop the phone on the orange crate nightstand. “Well, maybe I have a little time before you need to take me home.”
He grabs me from behind, and I fall back into him, laughing.
* * *
Carly
Late the next morning, I run to answer the knock on the screen door.
Austin looks fresh and sexy, though I have good reason to know there’s no way he got more than four hours’ sleep. “Wow, you look like one of those New York magazines.” He cocks his head. “You did catch the picnic part, right?”
I smooth my new halter dress over my thighs. I fell in love with the yellow daisies, and how the silky fabric felt on my bare skin. I’ve been waiting for a special occasion to wear it for the first time. I’m praying for special today. “Don’t you like it?”
“No.” His hands slide across my bare back. “I love it.”
He gives me a long kiss, and my body wants to pick up where we left off.
“I just don’t want to get it dirty.”
I drop my sandals, toe into them, and lift the pie safe from the counter. I got less sleep because I stayed up to bake. Oh, speaking of that…I hand him the thermos of coffee. We’re both going to need that. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”
“I want to show you something.” He takes the pie from me and sniffs the plastic top. “Is this what I think it is?”
“What, and ruin the surprise?” I feed him his line from last night as he hands me up into his truck, and I scoot over to the middle. I’m
greeted by the smell of fried chicken. “Perfect. I love The Prairie Chicken.”
He runs around and hops into the driver’s seat. “I was hoping you’d think it was homemade.”
“If it were, it’d be by your momma.” I roll up the window so my hair doesn’t get messed up, since it decided to cooperate today. Well, as much as it ever does.
“Hey, I can cook.” He puts the truck in drive and starts down the long dirt road to the highway.
“Shoe-leather steaks on a grill is not cooking.”
“The guys never complained.”
“That’s because they had a six-pack each before you fed them.”
He drops an arm over my shoulders. “Then it’s a good thing my future wife is a great cook.”
“Flattery may get you an apple pie, Cowboy.”
“Remind me to be sweet more often.” He kisses my cheek.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” I stay in the moment to keep from getting ahead of myself. I steal a glance; he’s focused on the road, his hand relaxed on the steering wheel. There’s no reason to think this is going to be my engagement day. Except, wouldn’t he try to act like it’s any other day, so not to spoil the surprise?
He would…if he’s planning a surprise. Otherwise, he’s just everyday relaxed.
Just in case, I try to memorize the day. It’s perfect. Monsoon season assures that it won’t get too hot, and the rain last week has brought out delicate little daisies and Indian paintbrush at the side of the road.
We ride, each in our own thoughts, until Austin turns off at the dirt road at the edge of his parents’ land. In the distance is his family’s weathered-to-gray, two-story homestead house. It housed three generations of the Davis clan, until his parents married and built a modern ranch house, a mile at the other end of the property.
“I thought we could have a picnic out here and not be disturbed.”
How romantic! My heart kicks in my chest.
We gather the food, and Austin snatches a blanket from behind the seat. “Mind the railing. I fixed the steps, but haven’t gotten around to that yet.”
I take the steps, his hand warm on my back.
I’ve been out here before, of course. We used to play house here when we were little. Well, I played house. Austin played cowboy, coming home to me after his “cattle drive” and Indian wars. The house is snug, but hasn’t been lived in for twenty-five years. The old-fashioned wallpaper is faded and peeling in places. The rooms are empty and full of the smell of dust and filtered sunlight. They echo as we walk in. I may just be sentimental, but I’ve always felt safe here; as if the decades of happiness seeped into the walls, and they now exhale it over me. I shiver.
Austin spreads the blanket on the floor of the front parlor. “Do you mind if we eat first? I’m starving.”
“This is not a news flash, Davis. Since when are you not hungry?” I sit on the blanket and unpack the food.
He drops down beside me. “Well, someone made me miss dinner last night.”
He nuzzles, making me giggle. “That wasn’t me, you horndog. And I didn’t get to eat, either.”
“But now that I think about it, I’m hungry for more than chicken.” He kisses my neck.
“Chicken is highly overrated,” I murmur against his throat and undo the buttons of his shirt. His hand slides up my leg and he discovers my surprise: no underwear.
He groans. “Oh, you’re killing me, Tig.”
I lay back on the blanket. “I can stop.” I slide the edge of my skirt up my thigh. “Anytime.”
“Don’t you dare.” He sits back on his heels and unbuttons his Wranglers.
“Whoa there, boy.” I put a hand on his chest when he leans down. “Protection, remember?” The pill has always made me sick, so, like it or not, he’s a condom man.
He groans, then struggles to get a hand in the jeans puddled at his knees. He takes care of business, and he’s over me again, hard and ready.
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him into me, too hungry to wait any longer. The tension that has built all day coalesces to a ball of crackling static inside me, shooting down my nerves and exaggerating the friction of every small movement. His hands are flat on the floor on either side of my head, and he watches my expressions change as he moves. The ceiling over his head is the one I’ll see every morning I wake. His face will be the first I see—
Thoughts are blown away by the lightning strike of my orgasm. Seeing it, he’s caught up as well, and we cry out together.
It takes some time for us to recover but when we do, we fall on the food until there’s nothing but crumbs and a couple leftover pieces of pie. Austin groans and stands. “That was the best meal I ever ate.” He chucks me under the chin. “Both of them. But now, it’s time for the surprise.” He extends a hand to help me up. “You ready?”
I shouldn’t have eaten so much. My stomach is full and jittery—not a great combination. I let him help me up, then I brush a few crumbs from my dress, so he won’t see my hands are shaking. I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but it’s too late now. He takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. At the top of the landing he turns left, into the master bedroom.
“Ta-da.” He sweeps his arm.
I scan the room. “What?”
“I replaced the windows.”
Now I notice the stickers on the new glass, and the old wood is replaced by vinyl. “Oh. Nice. Good job.”
“Tigger?” He walks over to the window. “You really want me to come off the road?”
My heart bongs off my breastbone. “I need you to, Austin.”
“Well, okay then. You’ve got it.”
“What?” The word spirals in pitch and volume, following my tripping heartbeat. I take a deep breath, trying to seal in the moment, to save it between the pages of my memory like the carnation in my high school scrapbook the year he and I were Homecoming King and Queen. I memorize his words, the light in the room, the moment.
I walk over and, not wanting to miss a nuance, put my hands on the sides of his face and raise it, so the light from the new window falls on the hard planes I know better than my own. His mouth is smiling.
His eyes aren’t.
My muscles jerk taut in an attempt to protect my soft organs. I want to stick my fingers in my ears to block his words.
“After next season.” His smile falters. Even a rough-stock rider loses nerve, sometimes. “Think about it, Tigger. We’ll be thirty. A nice, round number to begin our lives together. We can still have ten kids by the time we’re forty. More, if we have a couple twins, like my uncle—wait, where are you going?”
Bitterness tastes like ashes at the back of my throat. “Why do I get my hopes up? I’m like Charlie Brown with the football, in Peanuts. We’ve done this at least once every year since we were twenty. Do the math, Davis.”
I’m done. Done with the hoping. The wishing. Done with not asking, because I’m afraid to hear the answer. “I get antsy, and you act like you don’t notice. Like you don’t know why. Then I get bitchy, then bitchier, until we’re…here.”
There will be no surprise sparkly ring. That’s a daydream I wove, trying to hope it to reality. Like when I was thirteen, and inked Mrs. Austin Davis on all my school notebooks. “God, I’m a fool. Another year. Then another. Until you’re thirty-eight, broken down, and hurting. Those are the years I get?”
“No. I just told you. One more year.” He takes a step toward me. “I promise.”
“The same promise, last year.” I hold up a hand. “No. It’s not even about the year. It’s that you expect me to sit here and wait for you. See, you’re my dream. My first and only dream.” I push down on the emotion that’s bubbling like a lava lamp in my gut. I. Will. Not. Cry. “It’s obvious I’m your second.” The words fall out, to clunk like chunks of cement to the floor. I hadn’t known that saying them out loud would make them so…real. But there they lie, and I can’t take them back. They wouldn’t fit inside anymore anyway.
<
br /> He spreads his arms, like he’s the offended one. “As long as I’m winning, I’m making money for our future.”
“Don’t you even try to tell me you’re doing it for ‘us.’ You don’t always win, and life on the road is expensive. You’d bank more money working for your dad here on the ranch.” I have to try once more, to make him understand. Because I can’t give up until I know for sure where I fit. I step back into the room. “Austin, please, listen. It’s like all I am is ‘Austin’s Girl.’ I thought I was your partner. We were going to build a business together. A family. A life together. Now I get it. My role is ‘Austin’s Cheerleader.’”
I make a fist and shake an imaginary pom-pom. “Go, Austin.” My voice comes out flat.
“If I wanted a cheerleader, there’s plenty of buckle bunnies out there. I want you, Carly. You just have to trust that I know what I’m doing—”
“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. It’s your job to decide, my job to trust.” I throw up my hands. “Why do I bother? We’ve had this discussion so many times…” I turn and walk to the doorway.
“Seventeen.” His mumble comes from behind me.
I whirl to face him. “Oh, I get it. I’m a crapbird for bringing it up. Well, you won’t have to dread this, ever again.” The anger drains out of me in a rush, leaving nothing but the bitter taste of sadness that’s trying to crawl into my throat. “I finally get it. You’ve made it clear as the glass in that new window.” I walk to the door. “I’m done. Don’t come asking me to marry you, Austin Davis, because the answer is going to be no. Forever. And you can take that to the payout window.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
I go down the staircase, my bare feet leaving tracks in the dust.
His boots clunk down the steps behind me.
I toe into my sandals, grab my pie safe. “I want to go home.” I push open the screen, walk down the steps, crawl into the truck, and belt myself in the passenger seat.