Young Lies (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  And he died before he could see me graduate. In a way, Nathan Bennett was more of a father during my formative years than my actual father. That’s rather unfair to my father, but it’s true; my dad was gone on ships for most of my life and he never really showed much interest in my activities until he saw that it was actually taking me somewhere in life. It wasn’t until my business was off the ground that my father and I actually started to bond. We discovered a mutual interest in military intelligence, which I probably should have realized we had in common since that was my dad’s job in the Navy for nearly forty years. He’s the reason I got involved in a lot of the projects I have, particularly the ones that benefit the soldiers on the ground, the people like Leo who suffered from injuries and exhaustion and illness and infection. With his input my company shot to the very top of everything and made me one of the richest men in the country. I still ask him for advice constantly and seek his approval as though I’m still that skinny computer geek who couldn’t get a date to the dance.

  “If you don’t stop pacing,” Leo says without looking away from the television, “I’m going to throw this bottle at you.” He waves the empty beer bottle in my direction for effect.

  “I’m not pacing,” I snap, watching him smirk at the sulky tone of my voice. “Fuck you.”

  He laughs, still not looking away from his football game. “Dude, just go see her,” he tells me, finally glancing at me when the game goes to commercial. “We both know what the problem is and it’s not going to be resolved until you get this girl out of your system. And we’ve only got a few days before our friend the congressman calls us with an answer and we head back to New York. Grab the fucking keys, drive back to that little podunk town, and sweep her off her feet because they’re probably very sore from working all day at that diner. Just make sure you use protection. The last thing this world needs is a miniature version of you running around this Godforsaken planet.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grab my keys, telling my friend in no uncertain terms where he can stick his advice, and leave the room. Within a couple hours, I’m once again pulling up at Chet’s diner and actually feel myself smiling at the sight of her truck. At least I didn’t waste an entire morning just to find out she had the day off...

  Walking through the front door again, I only get a few curious glances from the people who saw me here last time. I don’t pay them any attention as I scan the diner for the one face that’s been burned into my mind. At first I don’t see her, and I have a strange sense of disappointment to think that maybe her truck just broke down and she left it here until she could get it fixed. Or maybe she was meeting her boyfriend here before they went off somewhere else. I now have visions of beating some faceless boy to a pulp and realize it’s the byproduct of jealousy. Now that’s a feeling I don’t experience on a regular basis. Or ever, to be more precise.

  The swinging door to the kitchen opens and there she is. She looks exactly as she did a few days ago, minus the gravy stain on her skirt. I watch for several moments as she expertly carries a tray full of food and drink to one of the tables and maneuvers it in a way I don’t think I could manage even on my most graceful day without causing a catastrophe. When she finally turns around, she sees me and I pretend not to notice that she trips on her way back to the kitchen.

  There’s an empty seat at the bar that I take and order coffee and pie from a lovely older woman named Doris. Samantha returns from the kitchen and scans the room just as I just did to find her. I’m not sure what to call the expression on her face—surprise, annoyance, embarrassment. Perhaps a combination of all the above. I smile at her and feel a strange flutter from within me when she returns it.

  After my arrival, the diner fills up and I don’t get the chance to do more than watch her rush past me in an effort to keep up with the stream of diners. Though I could very possibly watch her all day without getting bored, I strike up conversation with a few of the locals. The weather, local gossip, the high school football team’s chances of going to state... One of the upsides to my chosen career is that while deathly boring, I often attended tedious dinners with potential clients and learned the very subtle art of mingling. By the time Kathy Saunders and I finish our conversation about her youngest son’s recent application to the University of Nebraska and her hopes that he’ll soon become a Cornhusker—I’m also highly schooled at not making inappropriate jokes to those I’m trying to impress—the dinner rush is pretty much gone.

  “Oh, there he is now!”

  I look toward the door where Kathy is beaming and find a tall blond boy entering the diner. Compared to what I’ve seen of the local male teenage population around here, he’s not exactly a typical build. He’s got a very boy-next-door, all-American look about him, though, and judging by the smile he gives his mother, he’s a mama’s boy. “Hi, Mom,” he says, approaching and placing a kiss on her cheek before looking over at me suspiciously.

  I smile my most welcoming smile and stick out my hand. Farm manners seem to dictate that he takes the hand offered to him, whether he trusts the hand’s owner or not. “Matthew Young,” I tell him, giving his hand a few firm shakes before dropping it. “And you must be Tom.”

  Tom Saunders looks at his mother questioningly. “Um, yeah,” he says.

  “Matthew is just passing through,” Kathy tells her son. “He decided to have a little taste of the town before leaving.”

  Tom looks at the bar where my empty pie plate and cup of coffee are sitting as though confirming his mother’s information. “Apple crumble,” he comments, nodding at the plate. “Good choice.”

  “I agree,” I tell him.

  “Hey, Tom!”

  All three of us look over at the kitchen door to find Samantha exiting. She stops in her tracks when she sees me, her smile faltering a bit as her gaze darts between me and Tom. Why do I suddenly get the feeling I’ve been chatting up the girl’s boyfriend’s mother? Even for me, that’s a new one...

  “Hey, Samantha,” Tom says, his voice a little deeper than it had been when he was speaking to me. I shoot a raised eyebrow at him, but he’s too busy staring at the potential object of my affections to notice. “We still on for tonight?”

  Very reluctantly it seems, Samantha approaches the bar, standing directly in front of me. A quick inhale and I can smell a hint of strawberries permeating from either her body or her hair, I’m not sure which, but I’d damn sure like to find out. “Actually, I meant to call you,” she says regretfully, her eyes glancing at me for only a split second. “Lily needs some help studying before her test on Monday and she’s been begging me to help. Rain check?”

  I glance out the corner of my eye and find with some satisfaction that Tom’s shoulders droop slightly in disappointment. Then I realize whoever this Lily person is, she’s keeping me from spending time with Samantha as well. My own shoulders droop as I commiserate with the farm boy. Unlike the farm boy, I’m not willing to give up so easily. I’ve spent the last few days with this girl on my mind, drove two hours, and sat in this fucking diner all afternoon just so I could look at her.

  Even as she and Tom make arrangements for another day, her eyes continually dart to me and her blush increases. Finally Tom leaves looking as though someone kicked his puppy. Samantha watches him go with a furrowed brow and a frown on her face. Another expression to add to my memory...

  Half an hour later I see her bolt out of the kitchen with a backpack over one shoulder and she’s changed out of her work clothes in exchange for jeans and a t-shirt. My jaw drops at my first sight of her curves. Yeah, there is no way I’m passing this up... She’s out the door before I can convince my muscles to go after her and halfway to her truck when I call her name. Stopping suddenly as though she’s hit a brick wall, I see her tense before turning to face me.

  “Not even going to say hi?” I ask, grinning at her.

  “Sorry,” she says tensely. “Hi.”

  My face falls a bit. “Was that your boyfriend?” Not exactly the question I int
ended to ask her, but my brain apparently isn’t in charge of this operation.

  “What?” she asks in confusion.

  “Tom,” I clarify. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  She opens her mouth to respond, but snaps it shut promptly. “Not sure that’s any of your business,” she says coolly. She shifts a bit uncomfortably. “Are you stalking me now or something?”

  I blink a few times as I realize what she’s asking me. Well, fuck... “No,” I say, my brow furrowing as I wonder whether I’m lying to her already. “Well, maybe a little. But it’s not like that... Look, I’m not in town much longer and I was hoping you might consider having a cup of coffee with me. Just one cup,” I reiterate as she opens her mouth to either argue or scream for help. “If you’re uncomfortable after one cup, then walk away and you’ll never see me again.” I’m mentally crossing my fingers and muttering please, please, please, then vowing that when she slaps me and runs away, I’ll go back to the motel and let Leo get me drunk.

  She’s not slapping me, though. And she’s not running or calling for help, or even pulling out her pepper spray. She’s biting her lip a little and I have to stifle a groan. “One cup?” she asks so quietly I’m not sure I’ve even heard her correctly.

  I nod. “One cup,” I repeat just as quietly. “And we’ll even go to a place of your choosing and take separate cars, if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

  “Okay,” she says, eyeing me warily. “One cup of coffee at a place of my choosing. Then you’ll leave me alone?”

  Not sure I can guarantee that. “That’s what I said,” I remind her.

  Finally she tells me where it is we’re going. Much to my surprise there’s a tiny coffee shop a few miles outside town. I don’t ask why she doesn’t choose something a little closer to home—maybe she doesn’t want to be seen with me—and I head back to my car to follow her.

  As I’m closing the door, she calls out, “Wait!”

  Dammit! She’s changed her mind. Well, this is another first for me: dumped before even going on the date. Reluctantly, I get back out of the car, resting an elbow on the hood, the other on the door as I wait for her to crush me. But she’s smiling.

  “You didn’t tell me your name,” she says shyly.

  If Leo were here right now to see the ridiculous grin on my face, he’d be doubled over laughing. Good thing he’s not here... “Matt,” I tell her quietly. “My name’s Matt.”

  Biting her lip, she smiles, nods, and jogs back to her truck.

  -------------o-------------

  Inside the little coffee shop, I’m surprisingly pleased by Samantha’s choice. It’s quaint, comfortable, and she seems completely at home here. I direct her to grab a table while I get our coffee since she’s been on her feet at work all day and there’s actually a long line at the counter. She smiles bemusedly at me and I wonder if she’d ever been in contact with a guy with actual manners before. While I wait, I can’t help but sneak a few glances at her and grin whenever I see her sneaking one right back.

  I thought merely seeing her might help resolve this little problem I’ve been having over the last few days, the one where the only thing on my mind is her. The fact that I’ve never gone to such lengths to meet a girl is rather telling; normally, if there’s a girl who isn’t showing interest, I move onto the next one. Not this time apparently. Part of me is hoping she’s the most boring girl on the planet, because at least then I can get back to normal, rid my system of her. The other part of me knows almost instinctively that she is anything but boring and she’s going to be in my head for the unforeseeable future. Strangely, I like that last thought.

  With two coffee cups in hand, I weave my way through the maze of tables and find Samantha in a far off daze, her chin resting on her hand, her elbow propped on the table. She looks sad again, deep in thought, and I almost don’t want to disturb her. I clear my throat softly and she shoots upright, blinking rapidly with an embarrassed expression on her face at being caught daydreaming.

  “Tired?” I ask. I hand her a cup of coffee and remove my jacket before sitting down across from her.

  She smiles her thanks for the coffee and proceeds to fill the remaining space of her cup with cream and sugar. I grin as I sip from my own cup. “A little,” she admits, stirring her drink.

  We sit back in our chairs simply looking at one another as we try to find something to say. I want to ask her what she was thinking about, but she’d probably just tell me it’s none of my business, effectively ruining our little coffee date. “How long have you worked at Chet’s?” I ask instead.

  She seems startled by the question, but wraps her hands around her coffee mug. “About six months,” she answers quietly. “How long have you been stalking girls at diners?”

  I bite back a laugh. “About five days,” I answer, trying to keep my voice even. “Did you grow up around here?”

  Nodding, she seems to be relaxing very slightly. “My family owns a farm at the town line,” she tells me. “So yes, I grew up around here. Where did you grow up?”

  It surprises me how easy this conversation is flowing. I like how she’s not just letting me dictate the questions, but asking me questions in return, and I find it’s enjoyable. “Little bit of everywhere, I suppose,” I answer. “My dad’s in the Navy so we moved around quite a bit. California, Florida, Germany... We lived in Japan for a while. Currently, I’m living in Upstate New York.”

  Her eyes widen in excitement as I list the different places I’ve been. “That must have been fun,” she observes.

  I shrug. “To the point that I got to see so much, yes,” I respond. “But moving around so frequently means not getting the chance to plant roots in any spot in particular. I met a lot of interesting people, though, and I keep in touch with one or two of them.”

  She nods, that faraway look returning to her eyes. “I’d love to get out of here,” she says wistfully. “See the world a little bit. Or even just something that isn’t farms.”

  Immediately I want to offer to take her somewhere. Los Angeles. Vegas. Miami. New York City. Somehow I refrain. “So why don’t you get out and see it?” I ask.

  Sighing, she shifts around in her seat. “I need to be here,” she tells me resignedly. “Daddy needs help on the farm and my older brother and I are taking care of our younger sister while he does that.”

  “What about your mom?” I say as though it’s the most obvious question in the world. I wince at the expression of pain that crosses her face. It’s gone so quickly I wonder if I’ve imagined it.

  “My mom passed away,” she says in a wavering voice, staring down into her coffee cup. “About a year ago.”

  Reflexively, I reach across and place a tentative hand on her wrist in comfort. Her eyes shoot up to mine in surprise, but since she doesn’t look as though I’m crossing a line by touching her, I keep my hand where it is. “I’m sorry,” I tell her sincerely. I haven’t suffered the loss of a parent, but I know if I was to lose my mother, no matter when it happened, I’d be devastated.

  “Thank you,” she says, smiling tightly. I recognize it as the smile of a person who’s been practicing it for far too long and I see her closing herself off from me.

  “So what does your family’s farm grow?” I’m struggling to find something else to discuss, not wanting to make her linger on such a painful subject.

  The look in her eyes is a mixture of surprise and gratitude for the change. “A little of everything, I suppose,” she responds. It doesn’t escape my notice that my hand is still resting on her wrist. “Corn, obviously.” I grin at the way she rolls her eyes. “We’ve got cows, a couple horses. A goat.”

  “A goat?” I ask, chuckling.

  She grins at me, her eyes dancing in amusement. “Yeah. We’ve had him since he was a baby. José. He’s very sweet.”

  Somehow a goat named José seems a very fitting pet for this girl and I find myself wanting to meet it. “Do you have other animals as well?”

  She nods. �
�Chickens. Horses, Dogs. A cat that seems to have taken it upon herself to keep the chickens in line.”

  “That must keep you very busy,” I observe.

  She shrugs. “We’ve got it all down to a science. Morning chores are usually done by eight o’clock breakfast and we all go about our daily routines. I like it.” She frowns slightly as though she doesn’t quite agree with her last statement, but doesn’t elaborate.

  Our talk turns to schooling. I find out she was an honor roll student and had aspirations to leave Iowa for college, then I get the impression that the reason she didn’t do so was because of her mother’s death and I don’t press her any further on that topic. I tell her a little about my job, what’s brought me to Iowa. Obviously I can’t discuss too much with her—for one, I doubt she’d care much about the boring details, and two, the deal I’m currently in the middle of isn’t something the public is aware of and I’d really like to keep it that way. At least until the congressman calls to tell me the funding has been approved.

  Three cups of coffee later, I don’t even remember half the things we talked about, let alone how we got onto such random tangents of conversation. Samantha is easy to talk to. She’s intelligent and funny and witty, and the complete opposite of every other woman I’ve dated. She fascinates me and unless I’m completely blind, I think I fascinate her as well.