When You Fall...

by Robinson, Ruthie

  The garage door was open, which was not unusual. This was where his dad usually kept himself; his man cave, he used to say. It was empty of humans, so Rafael continued his trek into the house, passing through the utility room and into the kitchen.

  The smells of his mother’s cooking greeted him, and his stomach growled. His mom was an excellent cook. He heard conversation coming from the dining room.

  “It’s my Rafael,” his mother said, standing up. He could see her and his father and a young woman seated around the dining room table.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Oh mijo, you’re just in time for lunch. You won’t believe who this is. Maria Gonzales. You remember her. I used to give you two baths together when you were little. Remember, she stayed with us while her mother worked nights?” she asked, pulling out a chair for him to sit. He scanned the table quickly, taking in the four place settings already there.

  “Maria stopped by to see us as I was cooking lunch for your father. She just graduated college and is staying with her parents while she looks for work. Such a fine daughter!” His mother said, beaming.

  “Hello,” he said, smiling at Maria, before meeting his dad’s eyes.

  Okay, so his mother was playing matchmaker again. Lunchtime and dinner appointments were her signature set-ups. He knew to stay clear of any and all of her requests that required him stopping by during those hours. But this time his dad had done the calling.

  His mother’s most important duty, after educating her boys, was to see them married. He was the baby boy and so far, the only holdout. He should be married. How many times had he heard those four words from her?

  “Have you eaten?” she asked.

  “I have. It was nice meeting you, Maria. Sorry Mom,” he said and looked over at his father. “Do you have time to show me what you wanted for the roof? I only have a few minutes,” he said.

  “You can take a few more minutes to visit with your family. Here, sit.” His mother said.

  “Sorry, I can’t,” he said, pulling out his best smile.

  “You’ve got time. You can make time. Your goats and chickens can feed themselves. I grew up with them. I know a thing or two about farming,” she said.

  “Sorry, Mom,” he said again. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Dad, I’ll be in the garage for another 10 minutes. I’ll make a list of what you need to buy for supplies,” he said, nodding to Maria-of-the-pretty-eyes—meek personality on the outside concealing a spine encased in steel, laying in wait for the unsuspecting male. It was the type his mother loved. The type of woman she was. Don’t let the smile fool you. You had to stand up for yourself or you’d find her footprints all over your body.

  He turned and headed to the garage, walked over to his father’s work table, pulled out a sheet of paper and began making a list. He was surprised that neither of them had followed him out. Probably busy with how to solve-a-problem-like-Maria. He stepped outside and quickly surveyed the roof one last time, amended the list of supplies and left it on his dad’s work bench.

  His dad walked into the garage, wearing a look of disappointment. Rafael was preparing to leave. “You sure you don’t have time for lunch?” he asked.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Here is the list. Let me know when you’re ready to start. I’ll see you later,” he said and made his way to his truck.

  “Rafael!” he heard and unfamiliar female voice and turned to see Maria approaching him.

  “I didn’t know,” she said, a quiet smile on her lips. “I hate the matchmaking thing, too. My mother and yours together—not a good combination. It was hard to get out of this,” she said.

  “I know,” he said, his smile not his usual.

  “Here, take my number in case you change your mind. We can start over,” she said.

  He took her card and smiled. “Nice meeting you,” he said, before getting into his truck.

  #

  Sunday

  Carter didn’t see Rafael at all for a few days after he’d endured her friends’ teasing. She spent most of today upstairs, cleaning out Jack’s bedroom, trying to keep herself upbeat in the face of her dad’s opposition once again. She didn’t expect her sisters to understand, although Madison’s initial suggestion had surprised her. She hoped this one time her dad would have responded differently. He was the offspring of men who had worked hard and sacrificed to build this place. The same blood ran in his veins after all—and all for naught, it seemed.

  Okay, all the history stuff aside, couldn’t he believe in her just once? Okay, he had his reasons. Her teenage years after she’d moved in with him and his new wife were still wince-worthy. But she’d grown up, Bentley and the wedding disaster notwithstanding.

  God, what a mess, she thought, standing inside the door of Jack’s room. She’d tied a scarf over her hair and over her nose. She didn’t want to breathe in too much of whatever was swilling around in the air in there.

  She’d put off cleaning out this room, saving it for a time like this. Cleaning out this bedroom would require hard work—a perfect distraction. She could let her mind drift to anything other than her life, and where to go from here.

  She reached for the first magazine. She should have saved some of these; put them up on eBay. Why did one person need so much porn? She could ignore her dad and just continue to work around the farm. That was an option. And not a bad option either, she thought, defiantly, as she stuffed handfuls of garbage into her first trash bag. She wasn’t ready to look for a job.

  She let her mind go, pretending this was her ranch to do with as she pleased, sort of like winning the lottery. One bag filled, just that quick. If she were the sole owner of this place, she would turn it into a bed and breakfast, or perhaps a dude ranch. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? She lost herself in dreams as she worked to clean up Jack’s room.

  #

  Sunday evening

  She was in the barn late Sunday evening. She’d fed her boys earlier, gone in and showered and was back for one final check. One last time before bed; another habit she’d started, like a nervous mother. Maybe she should purchase one of those baby monitors.

  “You two are going to have all of the pretty mares swinging their tails at you if you keep this up,” she told him, standing at the rails talking to both Augustus and Grey. She was telling them about the progress she’d made cleaning out Jack’s bedroom. It was an odd habit, this talking to horses. She enjoyed her evening talks with them. It was a way for her to talk through her worries. There was no judgment, or expectations from them.

  “You with your talking to your horses,” Rafael said, entering the barn. His eyes immediately scanned her body, which was decked out in his favorite pair of shorts, the ones that had given him a hint of smooth bare bottom underneath.

  She pushed back from the stall, ignoring the rush of warmth that she felt at seeing him again. He looked good enough to eat in his jeans. Her blood warmed at the sight. What was it with cowboys—farmers, too—that turned a pair of jeans into works of art? Or maybe it was just this particular farmer’s jeans she found so appealing.

  He smiled at the lust visible in her eyes. He knew what that felt like because he’d been feeling it, too, along with that strange churning in his chest again.

  “All your girls gone?” he asked.

  “Yes. They are good friends,” Carter said.

  “It appears so,” he said, watching her.

  “Danielle is a good friend, too, and I guess so is Charlie.”

  “They are,” he said, smiling back, refusing to take the bait. “How’s it going over here?” he asked, changing the subject, moving past her to stand in front of the horses.

  “Fine. Keeping busy. Cleaned out Jack’s bedroom today and don’t think I’ll ever be the same,” she said.

  He laughed and nodded as his hands slid over the getting-better-by-the-day-smooth flesh of Augustus.

  “How about you?” she asked.

  “Busy.”

  “Tha
t’s good,” she said.

  It was quiet for a minute or two as he continued to rub Augustus before moving on to Grey.

  “Hey, about the other day. I hope it didn’t get you into trouble with Danielle,” she said, not giving up in her quest for information.

  “You didn’t.”

  “She’s your girlfriend?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Charlie?”

  “No.”

  “God, could you be any more evasive?” she said.

  He chuckled. “Your search for Mr. Right led you to a wedding, or the attempted break-up of one.”

  “Let’s just keep bringing that up. What’s your point?”

  “I don’t believe there exists such a person as Mr. or Ms. Right. I disagree with you there. I do want to get married,” he said, peering around the horse standing between them. “I am looking to get married,” he said.

  “Now?” she asked.

  “Sooner than later, hopefully. I would like to find a woman that I can live with that can help me with my farm and business,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “I’m also much more pragmatic in my approach than you are.”

  “What approach?”

  He watched her. “The looking-for-a-partner approach. You’re looking for love. I’m not. Don’t want it. I have a list of qualities I think the woman I will marry should have. ”

  “Okay. We all do,” she said.

  “Yes, but my list doesn’t include angels singing, flowers blooming, and that special touch of the heart that you ladies seem to want to feel,” he said.

  “Okay then, let’s hear your list.”

  “It’s a simple list, really.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, dropping to sit on the ground, crossing her legs at the ankles, relaxed as she gazed up at him.

  “One. She must have humor. Two. She must be hard working. Three. Limited high maintenance—beauty, nails, hair—all that upkeep. I like upkeep as much as the next man, but it can’t come before all else. Out here there’s not much time for it anyway. Let’s see. Four. A nice ass in a pair of jeans. Five. Must cook edible food. And six. She must want and love children,” he said, as he finished counting the numbers off on his fingers.

  Carter sat there looking at him like he had grown two heads. “You’re kidding, right? That’s your list?” she said.

  “That’s it.”

  “So what was wrong with Danielle?”

  “High maintenance and ceaseless chatter.”

  “Oh.”

  “Good in bed wasn’t on your list. I thought that would have been a requirement.”

  “I can teach that.”

  “Oh, you’re that good, huh?”

  “You tell me.”

  She looked around before she smiled. “Okay, fine. That was a one-time deal, by the way. You’d really think I’m crazy.”

  “One time. That’s fine,” he said. They were both quiet for a minute.

  “Seems a little rigid, your list,” she said.

  “It’s more honest.”

  “Couldn’t you hire someone? Why marry?”

  “I like the idea of having someone to…” he stopped and shrugged. “I’m old-fashioned that way. It’s more permanent, and I don’t want to have kids with my employee,” he said.

  “I don’t know. Your list seems too basic, and too… cold.”

  “What’s on your list, then?” he asked.

  “Me? I don’t have a list. Not really. I thought I’d recognize Mr. Right when and if I found him.”

  “Right,” he said, with more than a little sarcasm running through his words.

  “Mine are more like preferences anyway. Attributes, if you will.”

  “Right,” he said, again, taking a seat beside her on the ground, empty stalls at their backs.

  “The guy whose wedding you were attempting to break up—Bentley, the famous footballer, I believe it was. What was it about him?” he asked.

  “I told you. He was a good man. I didn’t know it at the time, and realized it too late,” she said, letting go of a wistful sigh.

  “Water under the bridge now. But anyway, back to my question. I know Bentley matched up to your preferences—attributes if you will—or at least your family’s. And their opinion is important to you, right?” he asked, turning to give her a smile, hair falling in his eye. She pushed it away from his face and he smiled at her familiarity before turning away.

  “Right,” she said.

  “Let me take a guess at your type, then,” he said, as if he was seriously considering his question. “Bentley is African American, so I’ll assume that is one of your preferences; your family’s, too? The other night with me, a non-African American male, I take was the exception rather than the rule.”

  “Yes. I think it’s more my father’s preference, actually. He’s old-fashioned, although he’s never come right out and said it. I do think he’d be disappointed if I brought someone other than an African American male home. He was born in the 1930s, lived through the sixties, so he’s not too sold on white males. I don’t really know what he thinks about any other races. My sisters never tested it and neither have I, so I can’t be absolutely sure. But yes, I almost always look for African American men.”

  “So the other races are good enough to screw, but not to take home.”

  “What?” she said, looking confused. “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’m just teasing you. Bentley’s a professional football player; aligns up with what I thought, too. He is gainfully employed in an acceptable field.”

  “What’s an acceptable field?” she asked.

  “Doctor, lawyer, CEO, surgeon, entertainer, rapper, basketball or football star—one that supplies cash,” he said, taking her silence to mean agreement. He continued. “So you want financially established, handsome, tall—most women want tall—athletic, with a car and home. Am I missing anything?” he asked.

  “And he must love me—like me, too—and good in bed would be nice, but it isn’t a deal breaker, although I may have to rethink that. But I do see your point. I did have an extensive list, but how else are you to get what you want if you don’t know what that is? And what was yours again? At least mine are more important than good ass in jeans, hardworking, humorous, cook and kid skills. Oh, and not high maintenance,” she said, silent for a second. “Good luck with that.”

  “Good luck with yours,” he said, smiling at her. She was cute.

  “I’m not looking any more,” she said.

  “So you’ve said. What project are you going to tackle next around here?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Not sure,” she said. “I’ve been having these odd thoughts lately—of keeping the horses, of never going back. Of ignoring my father and my sisters,” she said. She told him about her conversation with her dad the other day, and with Madison, and about her father’s persistence in his search for another property manager. “So it’s full-speed-ahead with the sale,” she said.

  “Did you tell him you were having second thoughts about selling?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “He wouldn’t listen. Madison is the only one of us sisters that I think he remotely listens to. He always has. It’s frustrating. I’m his child by blood and you’d think there would be some kind of loyalty to me, to this place. He thinks I’m too flaky, not up to the responsibilities,” she said.

  “He hasn’t seen what I’ve seen this week. Watching you work around here. Tell him you can handle it.”

  “I could find another place, like you did, and start from scratch.” She said, thinking aloud, ignoring his comment.

  He didn’t say anything for a while. “This is a one-of-a-kind place you have here,” he said.

  “I know.”

  They were quiet, she lost in her thoughts, he in his. Both content to sit here. He watched her. His eyes roamed over her body, one that he’d taken quite a bit of pleasure in the other
night.

  She was interesting, compelling in her crazy way, and an unexpected something for him—a small, really dim tug. He’d thought by not coming over, being with her, it would help to squash that tug. Not so. Good in bed held more importance than he’d originally thought.

  It would be another item he would add to his list. He wasn’t going to share that with Carter, however. Being with her had altered his list. Spending the other night with her had been impactful to him. He’d felt a connection he hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time, if ever.

  He’d given it considerable thought since their night together, recognizing that it would make a fine attribute to have in a marriage. So he’d internally revised his list to include connection, at least on a sexual level.

  He took a deep breath, inhaling her nice floral scent as she sat next to him. She had on a t-shirt and he couldn’t detect a bra underneath. And again with those shorts. He made an effort to move his mind to other things, instead he picked up her hand. She looked over and caught his eye. He saw desire reflected in them and before he could think, he leaned over and kissed her. She kissed him back, caught off-guard. His mouth opened over hers, pushing his tongue inside to mate with hers.

  He pulled her over onto his lap, and moved her again, this time to straddle him. He took a deep breath. All thoughts of friendship vanished as he set his lips to hers.

  “I thought we agreed this would be one time,” she said, when he’d pulled away from her lips.

  “We did,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.

  “I think I could handle more, but am I crazy to want this, to allow this?” she asked.

  “You just broke off a wedding and lost your job,” he said.

  “Yes. Thank you for pointing that out again,” she said. He moved in and kissed her lips, softer this time.

  “I know. I hear you,” he said, blowing out a breath while placing her back on the floor next to him.

  “Let’s try the friendship thing out first. If that’s good and you still want to and we feel we can handle more, then maybe we could. I’m not going to be out here long. I don’t know how long, but eventually we are going to sell this place and I’ll be leaving. I’m not looking for long-term, so I’m not a candidate for your list. We want different things,” she said.