I nod, unable to suppress a grin as I watch her speak. “Yeah, I get it.” Her pink lips twitch every now and again, and I can tell she wants to smile. There’s a glint in her eyes that intrigues me. When she finally looks at me again, her cheeks redden before she glances away, leaving us both in another stretch of strange silence.
“I haven’t seen you around the ranch much lately,” she eventually says. She stares out at the water, tapping her index finger on the edge of the dock.
“Yeah, well, baseball season started, so I’ve been pretty busy.”
Sam nods. “It’s all Nick talks about.” She rolls her eyes, like she can’t fathom why.
“You don’t like sports?” I realize despite all the years I’ve known Sam, I don’t know much about her, even if we have some of the same friends.
“Ah, no, not really. I’m more of a homebody.”
I couldn’t imagine being home any more than I already have to be. “Yeah, well, I try to get out of the house as much as I can.”
It’s my turn to stare out at the lake this time, but I see Sam look at me from the corner of my eye. “I heard you guys fighting,” she says quietly.
My stomach lurches a little. “Yeah?” I sometimes wondered if they ever hear us. I’ve heard Mr. Miller’s new wife shouting a few times and wondered if everything was okay. I glance at Sam sidelong, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone at school or anything,” she says somewhat protectively, and there’s something about her promise that makes me grateful, even though everyone already thinks they know my situation.
I meet her gaze. “It’s not a secret that my dad’s a dick,” I say with a frown. “But thank you.”
Her lips purse and her eyebrows arch over her compassionate brown eyes. “He still shouldn’t treat you like that. You don’t deserve it,” she says.
“It’s fine, I’ll be out of here soon.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up and she blinks. “That’s good. Are you moving out?” She picks at a muddy spot on her jeans, and I can picture her out with her horses, like I’d seen her doing during my time at the ranch. She’s peaceful around them, seems happy even.
“Army, baseball, getting my own place if I can get a job . . . I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”
“Then it’s something to look forward to,” she chirps, and I know she’s trying to make me feel better.
“Yeah, well . . .” I hate the way her eyes hold so many emotions. I hate that I can see her sympathy and pain, her pity and sadness. I see that protectiveness in there too, though, something I’ve never seen in anyone’s expression before, and my defenses fall away a little bit. “I’d rather not talk about it,” I say quietly. “Just ignore whatever you hear over there. That’s what I try to do.”
Sam bites the side of her lip and nods, just barely, before she leans back on her elbows and stares out at the water. Her long-sleeve shirt is pulled tight against her chest and the contours of her body are cast in evening shadows. When little Sam next door had become this petite, angelic-looking girl—a girl I’ve caught guys on the team staring at a time or two—I have no idea, but I find it difficult to look away from her, especially when she smiles.
I let out a deep breath, uncertain if her showing up down here is a bad or good thing.
“What about you?” I ask. “Is your house too crowded tonight, too?”
Without looking away from the rippling water, Sam sighs and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Just needed some air,” she says.
“You don’t like your new stepmom?” I’ve heard Mac and Nick talking, and I know Sam doesn’t get along with her all that well.
A false smile quirks Sam’s mouth up in the corner again, and she shrugs, seemingly indifferent. “She’s fine. I guess I’m just still getting used to the way things are now.” She’s lying though, I can tell, but it’s sweet that she’s private, protective of her family even, no matter how she really feels.
“You don’t have to lie,” I say with a smirk. “I won’t tell anyone.”
She blinks over at me, her gaze drifting from my mouth back up to my eyes, and for a split second, I feel my body heat and wonder what she sees when she looks at me.
“I just wish I knew why she hates me so much,” she says thoughtfully. Her brow furrows, and she glares past me a moment. “I’ve never said that out loud,” she says, but it’s almost a whisper.
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,” I say, and it’s true. No one who knows Sam, little meek, awkward Sam, could hate her.
“I overheard her telling Papa that it’s”—she clears her throat—“hard for her to look at me.”
I clench my jaw so my mouth doesn’t fall open. “She said that?”
Sam sits up, and I think I see tears in her eyes as she brushes her palms off on her pants. Finally, she nods. “But I’m sure she’ll come around.” She plasters on another false smile. “We just have to get through high school, right? Everything will be better after that.”
I nod, and I want to say something to comfort her, but I don’t know what. “At least we have this place,” I finally manage. “Unless this was a one-time deal and you don’t want to share it with me anymore.”
Sam wipes at her cheek, and she grins a little. “I guess I can share,” she says and looks at me. “That would be nice.”
Ten
Sam
Mac and I sit on the roof of her house, staring up at the stars as they shoot across the sky above us. We’ve done this all our lives, so it should feel comfortable to me, and it does, but it’s also different. It reminds me how much everything has changed and how infrequently we see each other now. Although it’s only been a week since our lunch date, the days have been so full it feels like months have already passed.
“Great night for a meteor shower,” Mac says, but like me, she’s distracted. She has been all night.
Repositioning myself on the blanket, I eye her carefully. “So,” I say sternly, “are you going to tell me?” I raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
Her head lolls toward me, and she frowns. “Tell you what?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you? You’ve been pretty quiet since I got here. Even the wine doesn’t seem to be helping.”
She shrugs and lets out an anxious sigh. “I just worry too much about everything.”
I know this about her, she’s a worrywart who sees too much and takes too much on herself. She always seems to think she can handle everyone’s problems—even mine, even when I don’t want her to. “What are you worrying about now?”
“My dad. He’s been under a lot of pressure, trying to find a replacement for Stan.”
“Really? I figured there’d be a line of applicants around the block.”
Mac groans and folds her arm behind her head. “Yeah, well, there aren’t, at least not that are qualified enough for what we need. It can’t just be some lube guy. We need someone who can do it all.”
There have been many moments in my friendship with Mac that I’ve wondered how we could’ve possibility become such good friends, especially given the constant reminders of how different we are: she likes to go out, I like to stay in; she’s girly, I’m not; she’s beautiful and confident—a spitfire, really—and dressing up for me is putting my contacts in instead of wearing my glasses. I live in a world where I have one stick of my go-to black eyeliner and flip-flops instead of sweltering, muck-around boots is borderline euphoric. Mac knows who she is and I’m just trying not to lose myself completely.
“. . . I mean, it’s harder than we thought, and we’re slammed with work,” she continues, and her gestures become more animated. “People want their car repairs done fast so they can leave for summer trips. And don’t get me started on everyone’s ‘sudden’ air conditioning problems. It’s like the universe knows we’re shorthanded and it’s testing us.”
“You’ll find someone, Mac. Your dad has the best reputation in like five counties
. Why do you think you’re so busy? You just have to be patient and hold on a little longer. The next guy will be even better than Stan.”
Mac snorts. “Yeah, right.”
I flick her arm. “I’m serious. You’re a hard-ass and won’t let anyone less than worthy through those doors, and your dad can smell talent a mile away.” I smile, amused. “I mean, if he won’t even let his own son work for him because he’s not passionate enough, that’s saying something.”
Mac sighs again. “Oh, David.”
“How’s he doing, anyway?” I ask, knowing she’s been worried about her older brother for the seven months he’s been living in L.A., writing songs and hanging out with a bunch of partiers.
“He says he’s staying out of trouble, but you know him. I won’t know what he’s been up to until I see him in the news. It’s like he’s punishing us for something.”
I lie back down on the blanket and stare up at the sky in time to see two meteors zip by above me.
“Oh! That was a good one.” She points up at the Milky Way. “I don’t see the dipper tonight,” she says, prompting me to show her.
“There,” I say, pointing northwest. “See? Boom. Boom. Boom.” I point to each star.
“Oh, yeah, I guess. They don’t seem very bright tonight.”
“The moon’s pretty full. I don’t think it’s really dark enough.”
Mac props herself up on her elbow and stares down at me. “Do you think David running off and getting into trouble has anything to do with my mom?” she asks, completely changing the subject.
Although I wish I could help her, I don’t know what to tell my friend. “Maybe that’s part of it,” I say honestly. “I mean, he was the oldest when she left, and it’s gotta be hard to deal with something like that . . . the sense of rejection and all the responsibility that comes with being the oldest.” It makes my chest burn just thinking about Mac and her family on the night they came home from a movie and found the note. Their mom was gone and never planning to come back. There’d been no word from her since.
“I still think about that night all the time,” Mac says, her voice distant. She rolls onto her back. “How do you hug your children, wrap them in scarves and jackets, peck them on the cheek and send them to a movie, all the while knowing you’re about to walk away from them forever for your own ambitions?”
“She’s sick, Mac, even your dad says so.”
Mac’s quiet a minute, then she folds her arm behind her head. “Yeah, I guess.” We watch a few more meteors shoot across the sky, then Mac asks, “How are you doing? I mean really doing?”
I swallow, staring up at the stars instead of looking at her. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re lying,” Mac says.
“No,” I counter, “I’m fine.” And it isn’t a lie. I am well enough.
“You always say that—”
“Well, what do you want me to say? That I’m miserable half the time? You already know that.” Mac lets out a breath, and I regret being short with her. I don’t want to have this conversation at all, but I know if I don’t give her a little bit of myself she won’t let the topic go. “There’s just a lot going on, you know?”
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I know.”
“We’re getting a new boarder next week,” I add, trying to sound more chipper.
“Yeah? That will help with the money sit—eek!” Mac turns onto her hip quickly, like she’s been bitten, and reaches for her back pocket. “Shit, that startled me . . .” She pulls out her cell phone and swipes the screen. She scans it, her whole face glowing. “Nick wants to know if he and Reilly can come crash our party. Says he’s off soon.”
My heart palpitates, and I can feel the blood rushing through my body at roadrunner speed. I can’t help the way my fingers tap against the rooftop.
“Sam,” Mac drawls and I can feel her gaze on me, burrowing into my soul, searching for answers. Even in the darkness I can’t hide anything from her.
“What is it?” she finally asks. “Have you seen him yet?” Her eyes widen to saucers, glimmering in the light of the moon. “Spill. Now.”
Flashing her my best puppy-dog eyes, I hope she’ll relent, but she doesn’t.
“Fine. I’ll just ask him when he gets here. I have no shame.” She picks up her cell again. The lit-up screen is near blinding as she types in SURE. BRING BEER. SEE YOU SOON! And smiles over at me.
“You’re not seriously having them over . . . are they supposed to crawl up here with us, or are we going to hang out with your dad passed out in his chair in the living room?”
“And why not have them up here? Nick does it all the time.”
I balk. “Yeah, and there’s barely room for a fourth. What are we, twelve?”
Mac squints at me before she seems to give up and grins. “Who cares how old we are, Sam? You need to loosen up, have some fun. You’re borderline pathetic.”
“Gee, thanks.” I settle back down and stare up at the sky. I rub my forehead, wondering if I can handle seeing Reilly tonight.
“Did something happen or do you just not want to see him, Sam?”
“Yes—I mean, it’s both,” I rush to say. I roll onto my side to face her. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Earlier this week,” I start, deciding how much to tell her. Do I start with the dream, or just blam, I’m swimming, and—
“Earlier this week what? Come on, Sam. You’re killing me. I have no life of my own. You have to tell me.”
“You’re the one giving me shit and calling me pathetic—”
“Please!”
Even though it’s only Mac lying next to me, mortification still burns my cheeks. “A few mornings ago, I needed some air, so I went for an early ride. I ended up at the lake and thought a quick dip would be a good way to clear my mind—”
“Oh my god, and . . .”
“And I got tangled up in Reilly’s fishing line—naked—and he had to untangle me. It was humiliating and don’t say a single word, Mac!”
“You were skinny dipping and Reilly had to save your life?” The thrill in her voice is almost comical and her laughter booms in the air around us.
“Shhh! I don’t want the whole world to know. Besides, he didn’t save my life, Mac. Well, maybe he did, sort of—but the point is that I’m humiliated and I don’t want to see him. It will only make everything worse.”
“Or better,” Mac chirps. “You need some hot and heavy in your life.”
I shake my head to dispel the distracting images that come to mind. “Not with Reilly.”
“Why not? You loved him once, a part of you probably still does. He’s a nice guy, the circumstances were just bad.”
I groan. “I can’t think like that, Mac.”
“Why?”
“Because—”
“Because why?” She flicks me. “Because you’re stubborn as hell?”
“You’re one to talk!” I flick her back.
“Ow! That one hurt.” She rubs the side of her arm.
“I can’t think like that because he’s leaving soon.” And I can’t do this again, any of it.
“Alright, alright. I’ll let it go, for now.” Mac reaches for the wine bottle, turning it upside down when she realizes it’s empty. “Poop.”
Everything that happened from the moment Reilly left—his past with Bethany, the distance between us, him showing up on Mike’s door, the accident—comes crashing down on me, and I take a deep, calming breath. Besides, I have no idea how he even feels about me anymore.
I look at Mac. “So, are you going to uninvite them?” I ask, hopeful.
“Oh, yeah.” She pulls out her phone and swipes the screen. Selecting Nick’s text message, she types in: NOT MY HOUSE. WE’LL MEET YOU AT LICK’S IN 30. She presses send.
“Wait, why are you doing that? I thought we agreed we aren’t hanging out with them.”
“No,” she says, getting to her feet. “I agreed I wouldn’t invite them over to cuddle on the rooftop. We’re grabbing a drink. Tha
t way you don’t have to touch or talk to Reilly if you don’t want to, but I haven’t seen him at all since he’s been back. So we’re going.”
My palms begin to sweat, but I say nothing.
Twenty minutes later, Mac and I are walking through the parking lot at Lick’s. I don’t see the Rumbler anywhere in sight. It’s big and red and would be hard to miss, so I’m able to relax a little as we walk to the entrance.
A nice bouncer opens the door for us and we step inside. There’s no need to show IDs. The town’s too small not to know us—me, the horse girl who lost the town’s beloved horse whisperer in a tragic accident, and Mac, Cal Carmichael’s only daughter, who is very off limits.
Classic rock booms from the jukebox, and I’m sure that Nick had a hand in the selection. It’s been weeks since I’ve been here, maybe even months, and the place is a little darker than I remember. It seems smaller, too, with the exception of the bar mirrors lining the walls, giving the illusion of space. It smells like stale beer and the cloying scent of perfume, but it could be worse. People are laughing and chatting above the music, and I let the tension ease from my shoulders, just a little bit.
“Sup, girl!” Nick drawls to us from behind the bar. He’s wiping off the countertop, a fat smile on his face, and he waves us over.
“Come on,” Mac says, fluffing her hair from the walk. “Let’s get a drink.”
I pry my gaze away from the door, hoping Reilly doesn’t show up for a while, and follow Mac through the throng of Saturday night folks to wait for a drink. On our way over to grab a beverage, I spot a pretty redhead behind the bar with her hair pulled up in a messy bun. I nudge Mac. “I think that’s Savannah,” I say into her ear and point with my chin.
Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1) Page 10