Told You So_A Saratoga Falls Love Story

by Lindsey Pogue

  Pulling up the drive, I take in the vast ranch surrounding me. It’s impressive, with a large stable and a menagerie of horse heads and rumps sticking out of the stalls. There’s a pasture with a gray horse, grazing, and a stately white farmhouse with navy blue trim, situated opposite of it all.

  I park my Rover next to Nick’s Explorer and climb out, notebook and pencil in hand. Sam runs all of this? Her dad was somewhat of a legend in Saratoga Falls, a renowned horseman that I’d seen a couple times at the County Fair growing up. I remember the buzz around the accident and being sad for her, even if I hated her at the time. It’s only now, though, being at her home secluded up on the mountain, that I can almost feel the loss of him.

  A lukewarm breeze hits my face, and I smell dirt and nature, and I hear birds chirping and chickens clucking somewhere off in the distance. The ranch is its own world, and I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for Sam to take over this place. It’s admirable, even.

  Since Sam and Nick are nowhere in sight, I follow the sound of drilling, coming from the barn. Banjo and harmonica riffs meet my ears along with it, and I know I’ve found Nick. Creedence Clearwater Revival is one of his favorite bands. I know this from many summers being in the periphery of his life.

  I weave between buildings, imagining how much Jesse might like to visit a place like this one day. He’d love the horses and animals, maybe all of it a little over-stimulating, but in a good way for once, I think.

  The barn looks like the oldest building on the property, perhaps the only original structure that’s left, and I admire how rustic it is, how rich in history it might be and the possibilities of what we can do with it.

  Lingering in the blinding yet rejuvenating sunlight a moment longer, I let it soak through me for a final dose of serenity, before I step into what could potentially be the definition of a bad situation.

  I walk through the large open doorway. There’s nothing inside that would warrant the leathery scent that fills my nostrils, but I inhale deeply. It’s a little musty, but I like it, strange as it is to me. There are tools in some areas, fresh wood and building materials in others, but other than that, the space is relatively empty of anything resembling a barn. It’s a big space, though. Large enough to house a few tractors, and definitely large enough to transform into an office space.

  Finally, my eyes rest on Nick, standing on a ladder and drilling something into the skylight a few yards away. His back is to me as he whistles to the radio, unaware of my presence, and I enjoy the clandestine moment.

  With his arms extended above him, his abdomen shows just enough to elicit my appreciation and a fleeting curiosity of what his skin would feel like against my fingertips. He shifts his weight to his other foot and his arms strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt, his muscles flexing.

  “See something you like?”

  I spin around to find Sam behind me. Her eyes, the color of chestnut and whiskey, shift from Nick to me. I swallow, imagining my face the color of a ripe tomato. “Uh—hi,” I say automatically. “Just checking the place out.”

  Sam lifts a delicate eyebrow. She’s petite and pixie-like with her wild blonde hair and tanned skin, but the look in her eyes is prudent, like she’s seen a hundred lifetimes over the years, and the set of her jaw makes her surprisingly formidable, too.

  Sam shoves her hands in her back pockets and steps a little closer. “It’s obvious you like him,” she says, though I barely hear her over the sound of the drill. “So why do you play games with him all the time?”

  “I don’t play games,” I say quickly, a dozen other, more self-preserving replies come to mind, but I grip my notebook more tightly instead. “I . . . it’s complicated.” The years of wondering and wishing things were different make my true feelings difficult to separate. I’m not sure I do like him, or if it’s the idea of him.

  To my relief, Sam lets it go. “So,” she says, gesturing to the space. “This will be my new office.”

  “It’s a good size,” I say, easily slipping into design mode. “Do you mind if I ask what you used it for before the remodel?”

  “Well . . .” Sam gazes around, like she’s trying to remember. “The back corner was old stalls that were rotted out. They were holding old tractor parts and rusted tools that were my grandpa’s, which Papa was holding onto.” I glance from the corner of the room to her face, wondering if it’s difficult for her to speak of her dad.

  “And this area,” she continues, gesturing to the middle of the barn, “had my dad’s old John Deere that didn’t run. Nick pieced out the parts and sold it for me so we could use the space. And, over here,” she says, gesturing to the area where Nick’s installing the windows in the pitched ceiling. “This is where we were storing most of the horse feed. We’ve moved it all to the stables though, which is working out better,” she muses. “Anyway, that’s the gist. Reilly helped Nick with all the demo, but the biggest challenge so far, was Nick replacing the load bearing support beams that were rotting.”

  “Yeah, this place looks pretty old, but the bones seem good.”

  Sam nods, admiring the transformed space. “Yeah, I’m really happy with it. Other than a few spots on the roof that need some mending, which Reilly is taking care of, it’s just about done.”

  I nod, but my mind is swirling with possibilities. Rustic chic, antique accents, and understated furniture. “I really like the old windows up there, it looks great.” I meet Nick’s gaze, and he winks. Remembering his taut abs, I flush and clear my throat. “So,” I say, jotting down inconsequential notes, “what are your must-haves for the space? That will make it easier for me to wrap my mind around this.”

  “Well . . . ” Sam tucks a stray wave of hair behind her ear and peers around. “I know I need a desk.”

  When she doesn’t say much else, I smile. It’s clear this isn’t Sam’s forte, which gives me a bit of a confidence booster. “Are you worried about privacy or sectioning areas off? I’m not sure what exactly you’ll be using the space for.”

  “Meetings with boarders, and my stepmom will be out here, working on accounting. I know this space is bigger than we need, but it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get all of the crap that’s taking over the house out here. Plus, I want us to look more professional. We have twelve boarders now, and I hate them having to call the house number or come inside if they need something and I’m not out here.”

  “Got it. Are you thinking you’d like to keep it practical and open? Maybe an open floor plan?”

  “That’s kind of what I imagined.”

  I walk over to the loft to check out the stairs. “I’m thinking maybe we use the loft for the bookkeeping—it’s separate, but it’s still open, too. Nick might have to run additional wiring up there, but it could be done.” I quickly sketch the layout of the barn, wondering how we should use the open floor plan to suit Sam best.

  “I like that,” she says, staring down at my sketch. “I think Alison will too.”

  “Do you have any décor themes in mind—a style you’re partial to?”

  Sam shrugs. “I have a few things I’ve bookmarked. I’ll send them to you. I like simple, and I stay away from shiny things. Alison would be a better person to ask. She’s not as excited about all of this as I am, but she knows what she likes. She’ll be more helpful than I will. She already has a running list—no dirt floor and definitely an air conditioning system of sorts for the summertime. Reilly’s working on ventilation instead, but Alison is skeptical. And the concrete floors are going in next week, I think.” Sam shrugs. “Anyway, she’s the picky one.”

  Sam glances around at the space, and I can’t help addressing the elephant in the room. Holding my notebook up to my chest, I look at Sam and steel my nerves. “About Reilly . . . Sam, the whole thing last summer—”

  She puts her hand up and squeezes her eyes shut in a silent plea. “I don’t want to talk about any of that,” she says. “This”—she extends her arm in a brief wave around the room—“is ma
nageable for me. I’m not, however, good with—” she gestures between us.

  “Ladies,” Nick says lazily as he climbs down the ladder. “Glad to see there’s no fur flying in the air or claws out.”

  We both glare at him, and he holds his palms up. “Aye! ‘Twas only a joke.”

  “We were just talking about what to do with the space,” I say, choosing a more neutral topic.

  “And,” Sam says, glancing between us, “I have to jump on a call, so you guys let me know what your plan is and what you need me to do. Nick, you should wrangle Alison in at some point, she should have a say.” With a quick turn on her heel, she heads out of the barn. “Make good choices!” she calls over her shoulder, and Nick salutes her.

  When he looks at me, wood shavings clinging to his shirt and dust smudging his face, I smile. His eyes are more green than brown in the sun, filtering in through the skylight, and I wonder if he knows how sexy he is.

  I decide that’s a firm no when he smacks his chewing gum with a grin, completely oblivious, and steps closer. “So, that seemed to go well enough.” He rests his hands on his hips, amusement bright in his eyes. “I didn’t want to interrupt you two, but my arms were about to fall off, tightening those screws over and over again.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “No, it definitely wasn’t as horrible as I would’ve thought,” I admit. “But I wouldn’t say we’re on hugging terms or anything.”

  “Ha! You never will be. Sam isn’t a hugger. Not really. That’s Mac. You know you’re ‘in’ with Mac when you get a hug.” He spits his gum out in the trashcan by the door.

  “I can see that about Mac, but don’t worry, I won’t hold my breath for that, either.”

  Nick casts me a sidelong glance, a sparkle of something mischievous or knowing in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze shifts to my lips, lingering. The something that lives in the air between us at all times is sometimes impossible to ignore, and letting it hang in the silence is more than I can handle right now. Being this close to him, seeing him here in his element with the easygoing air I’ve always admired about him, is too much, too, and it makes it easy to forget why I’m here in the first place.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday,” I blurt. “I know we didn’t get much work done. I left kind of abruptly, but I’ll make it up to you. You’ve already done so much—” I peer around, imagining the barn before. “I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, kicking at a stray piece of hay. “I hope everything worked out okay. You seemed pretty upset.”

  I stare out through one of the old, single-paned windows, like there’s something more noteworthy outside than the concern on Nick’s face. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I notice him reaching for my face from the corner of my eye, and my eyes dart to him. I’m not sure if it’s possible to pale while your cheeks burn, but my eyes widen, and his mouth quirks up in the corner.

  “You have something in your hair,” he says quietly and gently plucks a flake of sawdust or straw from it, but I don’t notice which. It’s not important, not when his eyes are locked on mine and the silence grows.

  “There he is,” Reilly calls, causing me to jump. I spin around as he steps into the barn. His smile is wide, and he lifts his chin at Nick before his eyes shift to me. “Hey, Bethany.” Reilly’s easy expression never falters.

  With a tightlipped smile, I nod a hello and offer him a quick wave of uncertainty, knowing the last time I saw him I was laying the flirting on pretty strong.

  “I figured I’d find you riding out in the pasture,” he says with a face-engulfing grin.

  “Yeah right,” Nick mutters.

  Reilly glances at me. “Nick’s petrified of riding,” he explains with a smile. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Nick glowers but Reilly ignores him. “So,” he says, “did you get the breakfast I left for you yesterday?”

  “What?” Nick’s eyes widen. “No. Sam said you ate it all.”

  Reilly winks. “I did. I was just screwing with you.”

  “Not cool, Rye.”

  With a chuckle, Reilly rests his palm against a support post, leaning his weight against it. Then, he looks at me again. “You here to keep this guy on track?”

  “No, not at all,” I say easily, impressed with all they’ve done already. “I’m in awe, actually. I saw the before photos, and it looks amazing in here. You guys have done a really great job so far.”

  “Thanks. It’s mostly Nick. I’m in charge of the Honey Do List.” Reilly chuckles and looks up at the new skylights. “They look legit.”

  While the guys chat back and forth, I can only think of how strange all of this is. Maybe it’s the high schooler in me, but I’m standing in a room with two guys I’ve always known about but never really known, and it’s surreal to be a temporary fixture in their circle.

  So, this is what is feels like . . .

  Twenty-Two

  Nick

  I pull up to the curb outside my apartment and glance into the rearview mirror as Bethany pulls her Rover up behind me. She gets out of her car, hauling her book bag over her shoulder. I try and fail not to notice how good she looks in a simple yellow dress and sandals. I didn’t tell her at the ranch that she’ll likely regret that next time she’s up there working. I was too distracted, staring at her legs the whole time, but I make a mental note to tell her, eventually.

  With a smirk, I open the door and get out of the Explorer. “Fancy seeing you here,” I say and collect my thermos and flannel jacket from the backseat.

  She runs her pale-pink, painted fingernails through her hair. “Yeah. Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your Sunday working on this? You already spent your morning at Sam’s and—”

  “Bethany,” I say, climbing up the stairs to the second floor. Her footsteps are quiet compared to mine. “You don’t have to feel bad. It’s my project too.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ve already done so much.”

  “For another project that I have to do. I’m not making you do Murray’s final on your own.” Plus, I want to spend time with her. Pushing away all the reasons that’s a foolhardy idea, I find my house key, deciding to let the cards fall where they may.

  When we reach the landing, Casey’s standing outside her door, two apartments down from mine. Her brown hair is braided on both sides, and her favorite doll is clutched under her arm. When she sees me, her eyes light up. “Nick!”

  “Hey, squirt.” I flash her a big, toothy grin.

  Casey takes in the sight of Bethany. “Hello,” she chirps, and she seems almost mesmerized.

  “Hi, cutie,” Bethany says in a voice reserved for little kids. “That’s a very pretty doll you have there.”

  “She’s my favorite,” Casey explains. “Her name is Pickles.”

  Bethany’s eyes widen. “Oh?”

  “Yep! Nick named her for me.”

  I burst with laughter, more than amused by the look on Bethany’s face, as I unlock my front door. “What can I say? Pickles are my favorite.”

  “They’re mine too,” Casey explains.

  “For now,” Colton mutters as he steps outside. He glances between Bethany and me and pulls the door shut. “Hey there.”

  “Hi, I’m Bethany.” She waves slightly.

  “Colton,” he says. “And this munchkin here is Casey.”

  Casey waves shyly at Bethany, like she’s awed or nervous, and I can’t help but love the kid all the more for her innocence. “You look like Cinderella.”

  “I do?” Bethany peers down at her sundress as she smooths it down a little. “The cinder girl or the princess version?” she asks wryly, though her insecurity is lost on Casey.

  I can’t help but chuckle as I set my stuff inside the door.

  “Uh . . .” Casey considers Bethany’s question seriously. She glances between her face and her clothes. “Both, I think.”

  “Well, I hope that�
��s a good thing,” Bethany mutters.

  Colton shoves his wallet into his back pocket. “It is.”

  “Yep! Yep! Yep!” Casey’s head bounces with the syllable. “She’s my second favorite Disney Princess in the whole world.” She displays a number two with her fingers.

  “I see. Well, in that case, thank you very much, Casey. It was lovely to meet you.”

  Colton takes her hand. “Come on Casey baby, we don’t want to make Cal angry for being late.”

  “Oh boy, family dinner with the Carmichaels? That’s going to be . . . fun.”

  Casey nods emphatically. “We’re having spaghetti.”

  “Yep, and it’s going to be gone if we don’t get there on time,” Colton warns. “You two kids have fun.” He looks at Bethany. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” she says with a little wave at both of them, and we watch father and daughter hurry away.

  “Grandpa Cal would never be mad at me.” Casey’s chirps carry on the breeze as they make their way down the stairs.

  “Yeah, I know. Lucky.”

  I laugh at Colton’s reply and head inside my cold apartment.

  “She’s cute.” Bethany wraps her arms around her middle as she steps into the icebox.

  “Yeah, she’s a kick.” I flick the lights on and hand her one of my sweatshirts from the laundry basket. “It’s clean, I promise.”

  She lifts a playful eyebrow but accepts it. “Thanks.”

  “This place stays pretty cool, so when I don’t let the sun in during the day it’s a bit chilly. I’ll get the fire going. The sun’s going down soon.”

  “You don’t have to do that—”

  “It’s gas and gets the living room warm in seconds. Trust me, you want the fireplace on.” I pull off one boot and tuck it out of the way by the door.

  Bethany doesn’t argue. Instead, she sets her bags on the couch and checks her phone. It’s a habit of hers, I’ve noticed. She keeps it on her at all times and looks at it regularly. I have a feeling Jesse has something to do with that.