When You Fall...

by Robinson, Ruthie

  He knew he wasn’t what she was sought in a mate. Skin color had the potential to be an obstacle, if not from her, then from her family, and for the first time in his life, that bothered him. Go figure. He chuckled to himself. Usually he didn’t care. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten the brush-off because of his race. It bothered him like an insect hovering around your head bothers you; makes you irritated, but you either kill it or swipe it away. There were still plenty of women around who didn’t mind his skin tone.

  But Carter was similar to him in her love of the land. He felt like they were on the same path somehow, finding something that was important to them; the outdoors—she with her horses, and he with his farming. They appreciated the hard work that her great-grandfather had put into the land, to leave an important inheritance, a long-lasting legacy.

  He didn’t want to see her give up on her dream so easily. Some things were worth fighting for. He just had to make her see the need to fight for what she wanted. And if he could keep her close, then that was good, too.

  #

  Saturday evening.

  Knock. Knock. A ring of the front doorbell followed. It was evening, and Carter was in the kitchen, watching some fireworks display on TV. She had one more chore, feeding her boys, before she went to bed. She walked toward the front to answer.

  Two older women, African American, both round and short, reaching to her chest in height, were standing on her doorstep. One was completely bald, the other had her hair pulled back into a bun. Both stood staring at her with huge grins on their faces. They must be twins, they looked so much alike. One held something covered in tin foil and the other had her hands in the pockets of those athletic shorts the coaches of old used to wear.

  “Welcome. Happy Fourth of July,” the one with the bun said. “I’m Ernie and this is my sister, Al. We live across the street from you. We would have come sooner, but we thought that worthless property manager your folks hired was finally getting some work done around here,” Ernie said, pushing past Carter to enter her home.

  “We brought you a good old-fashioned apple pie in honor of the Fourth of July,” Ernie said, heading now toward Carter’s kitchen.

  “Don’t mind Ernie. She was a principal for 30 years, and used to giving orders and taking over. She… we don’t mean any harm. We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood now that we know you’re here,” Al said, smiling.

  “No problem. Thank you. Come on in,” Carter said.

  “You sure we’re not imposing?” Al asked.

  “No, not at all. I’m tired of my own company anyway,” she said, closing the door and following Al to the kitchen.

  “Rafael stopped by this afternoon and told us you were here. We would have come sooner had we known,” Al said.

  “You have any coffee?” Ernie shouted from the kitchen as she made herself at home.

  “Yes,” Carter said, a little surprised at Ernie’s temerity, but she’d been without female company for so long she was going with it.

  ‘It’s really nice in here. I’ve never been over,” Al said, looking around the house.

  “I wouldn’t call it nice. It used to be nice, when I was a little girl, but it’s in better shape than when I found it,” Carter said, standing at the door of the kitchen, looking at Ernie as she searched for cups and plates in her cupboards.

  “Carter, come in here and work this coffee machine,” Ernie said, standing by the counter and looking at the coffee machine with wonder.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “It’s a small espresso machine. I brought it from the city. I have this fondness for cappuccino,” Carter said.

  “Is that those little drinks in those cute little cups?” Ernie asked.

  “Nope, that’s an espresso.”

  “How about some old fashioned coffee? Can this cute little machine make that for us? Plain coffee goes well with the apple pie I made,” she said.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Carter said.

  “It is so nice to have another female in the neighborhood,” Al said.

  “It’s mostly men. Rafael is nice, but he works so. He rarely has time to talk, and he’s never still enough for us to serve him tea. He’s told us about your dreams of making this place into a bed and breakfast or maybe a dude ranch,” Ernie said. They were all seated around the kitchen table now, with slices of pie and cups of coffee in front of them.

  “We could use some dudes around here,” Al said.

  “I was just day-dreaming,” Carter explained. “I can’t, not really.”

  “Why not?” Ernie asked.

  “My family is going to sell it soon,” Carter said.

  “It would be popular, your dude ranch. I’ve been to one. Used to date the owner,” Ernie said.

  Al rolled her eyes.

  “I dated the owner. Don’t pay her any attention. I still have his number. We are still friends. I bet he’d be willing to talk to you,” Al said.

  Carter just smiled. “Did Rafael put you up to this?”

  “No, of course not. We wanted to meet our new neighbor, that’s all. Do you like him?” Al asked. Carter smiled, but didn’t believe them. “Who, Rafael?” she asked.

  Ernie and Al exchanged glances.

  “Yes, he’s a very nice man,” Carter said.

  The two of them exchanged looks again.

  “He’s looking to get married. Did you know that?” Al asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Carter said.

  “You interested? A woman could do worse,” Ernie said.

  Carter laughed. “I’ve given up on men,” she said.

  “What you say!” Ernie said, hitting the table with her hand. “Why would anyone want to give up on men? Aren’t you too young for that?” Ernie asked.

  “No, and it’s a long story,” Carter said.

  “Is it because Rafe is a Mexican? Is that why you’re not interested?” Ernie asked.

  “He’s not Mexican. Mexicans are from Mexico. His people are from Guatemala. That’s a whole separate country from Mexico,” Al said.

  “Well, is that why you aren’t interested, ‘cause he’s from Guatemala? If it were me, that man would be tied up in my house so fast,” Ernie said, and raised her left arm in the air like she was starting to preach.

  “You don’t have to answer her,” Al said, pulling her sister’s arm down and pushing her coffee closer to her.

  “He’s a nice young man. You could do worse. Give me a man that works that hard all day and looks like he does. I’d have him working all night, too. You hear me?” Ernie said, slapping the table again, causing their coffees to jump.

  “He looks like he could be up for both,” Al said.

  “What you say,” Ernie said, her arm back in the air.

  “What you say,” Al said, smiling at Carter, who laughed at them both. What a pair these two were.

  #

  Saturday night

  “So, how is she?” Frank asked, sipping from his glass of Coke, sitting next to Rafael at the only bar in town, taking a short break. He didn’t drink on duty. He was keeping an eye out; folks were known to drink too much and get rowdy after the Fourth of July fireworks ended. He needed to be alert.

  “She’s fine.”

  “I thought you would have asked her to the Fourth of July picnic,” he said, his smile threaded with teasing.

  “Nope.”

  “If I were you, I’d see if she could meet those requirements of yours,” Frank said, grinning.

  If there were one thing Rafael wished he could take back, it would have been confiding in Frank regarding his wife list. Frank hadn’t let go of it. Called him all kinds of crazy for thinking to reduce choosing a life partner to a list of six qualities, like some mail-order bride one from the Sears catalog. Was Sears even around anymore?

  Rafael ignored him, taking a sip of his beer. It was good—nice and cold—with little bits of ice floating around in it.

  “You should get to know her. See if she
measures up to your list,” Frank said, humor again in his comment.

  “Nope, it would be a waste of my time. One. She’s not sticking around. Two. She’s not looking to get married, and if she were, three, she prefers African American men,” Rafael said.

  “What difference does that make? The way I see it, you both are in the same brown family.”

  “Shut up and drink your Coke,” Rafael said, finishing off his beer. He pulled out his wallet and placed enough money on the bar to cover his drink.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Don’t go running off with your feelings hurt.”

  Rafael laughed. “It would take more than you to hurt my feelings. It’s been a long day,” he said, and walked out the door.

  That would teach him to share. He’d known better, but he’d also known Frank for a long time, and until now, he could take the ribbing he’d gotten over his potential bride list. He was used to it. It was what they did with each other.

  He pulled out heading home, taking the long way around. He drove by her place. Even if he didn’t stop, there was no harm in keeping an eye out. He didn’t want to share her, or what they’d done, with anyone.

  And back to his Carter problem. Even if she changed, and wanted long-term, and wanted to live here, he was not and would never be an African American male. And was that really so important to her? He honestly didn’t think so, but even if race wasn’t an issue for her, it was for her father. Would she go against him? That was another hurdle that she’d have to get over. She’d have to pick which of them to please; couldn’t be both. There could only be one man in the family.

  So far, she hadn’t been able to stand up for herself, defending something she really loved, like her ranch. The odds of success with her standing up for him were even slimmer, not that he’d asked her to.

  He knew his list sounded foolish to some, but really, was it any less offensive than using race in determining the value and compatibility of others? He didn’t have the answer for that one, deciding to let it go. What was up with him this week, and that churning thing with Carter, and the relationship between his dad and mother?

  He really was looking for keeps, even if his requirements seemed basic to some. There was less craziness with finding a wife with his list, less room for misunderstandings and disappointment, no room to be hurt if you loved more than the other person, because this way, you didn’t love at all.

  #

  Saturday night.

  The house telephone rang. It must be Madison.

  “Hello,” Carter answered.

  “I talked to Dad today. He told me he has narrowed down his search to two real estate firms. One has a woman he was really impressed with. He thinks she would make a good property manager. Isn’t that great? We are moving ahead.”

  “You know there was a time in this country when one in seven farmers was African American. Do you know what that number is now?” Carter asked.

  “No, and I don’t care. We don’t have a farm anyway. We have a ranch,” she said.

  “Did you know that in 1910, black farmers’ land ownership was about 15 million acres? It’s down now, less than 18,000 black farmers now, and that is less than one percent of all farms in America.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “This land is valuable, and although six million is a lot of money, is it enough to discount the value of it to our family? It’s our history,” she said.

  “Carter, Carter, Carter. Our great-grandfather left this to us and we are going to put it to good use. It’s going to pay for college for my children and for your children, if you ever have any. Oh, I forgot, you’d have to get married first. What was I thinking, calling you. I should have known that you’d only think about yourself. It’s our land, too, Carter and we are selling it, so get over it,” she added.

  “He wasn’t even your great-grandfather,” she said, into the silent phone. Madison had already hung up.

  #

  Carter sat in her car, parked outside of Rafael’s home, later on that night. The twins and their comments about Rafe and all that he could do for a woman, mixed with her experiences with him already, had her driving over. Plus, Madison had left her angry and she needed to do something with that energy; something other than being depressed.

  She’d missed out on the Fourth of July fireworks, but maybe they could produce another type of fireworks. She took a breath, hoping she wasn’t going to encounter another Danielle when she knocked on the door this time.

  She stepped on the front porch, and peered through the door’s side window, trying to see inside. There was a light on in the house. She’d seen it from her back porch before she’d driven over. It was still on. She rang the doorbell and waited.

  She’d surprised him, she could tell after he opened the door. She was surprised, too, by the smile that had broken out on his face when he saw her.

  “What are you doing out so late?” he said, looking rumpled, sleepy and way sexy. He still had on his clothes though.

  “Saw your light and I couldn’t sleep. Thought you might be able to help a sista out,” she said.

  “You did, huh?” he said, smiling still, opening his door wider and holding his hand out, doing his best butler imitation, inviting her in. “Come on in,” he said.

  “Said the spider to the fly,” she said, and they both laughed.

  “I was watching TV over here on my couch. I love this couch,” he said, moving closer to her until his hips touched hers. He pulled her top up and over her head, leaned in and covered his mouth over hers. She loved the feel of his lips on hers, hungry, wet, and warm.

  “And I thought I was fast,” she said, when he pulled away.

  “It’s large, soft, and big enough for two… my couch is,” he said, kissing his way down her body, until he ended up, squatting in front of her. He gripped her shorts and pulled them down. “Nice,” he said, pointing to her underwear, before removing them too. He spread her legs, gripped her ass, and pulled her to him, leaning in to kiss her there.

  “I think I should be seated on your nice, comfy couch for this,” she whispered, hands in his hair. He looked up and smiled his one-of–a-kind sultry smiles.

  “No, you’re good here,” he said, and leaned in and kissed her there again. “Oh,” she said, followed by a low and heartfelt moan a minute later.

  “Rafe,” she said, and held onto his shoulders a few minutes later as she came. He started again, bringing her to a climax, before starting again. He laughed as she sagged into his body later. He stood and kissed her mouth, hard and quick.

  “I can’t feel my legs,” she said, when he pulled away and he laughed, lifting her as she sought to catch her breath. He laid her on the couch and slipped out of his shorts, pulling his shirt over his head and pulled a condom from what appeared to be from thin air. He had it on and his body covered hers before she could blink. He kissed her on the lips again while she was still searching for air. He pushed his knee in between her legs and entered her with one smooth thrust. He held her hips in his hands for a second while he acclimated himself to her warmth. And then he moved… pushed slowly into her and then out, and in and out again, pulling her legs around his back without missing a stroke. She felt good, easy, liquidy, and snug.

  He groaned and pushed in again, took a breast into his mouth this time, a tug to the rhythm of his thrust, hitting the spot he’d just brought to life with his mouth.

  “ Oh…” he said on a groan. He kissed her and groaned into her as he pushed, one last time, frozen in place by the power of his climax. He held himself still for a minute and then collapsed on top of her.

  A few minutes later, he lifted his head and smiled.

  “Stop by any time you want to,” he said, kissing her again.

  “I’m going home tomorrow,” she said.

  “What?” he asked, startled. “Going home?”

  “Just to pick up some stuff—more clothes. I’ll be back,” she said, looking at him strangely, not sure what t
o make of his reaction.

  He lifted himself off of her and looked down at her for a moment. It was cold now without him covering her.

  “That’s good. I’ve got an egg delivery and then I’ll head to the farmer’s market in Buda,” he said, looking at her again before heading out of the room.

  “You going to talk with your dad?” he shouted, before she heard the shower start up.

  “Talk about what?” she said, standing up and walking toward the back of his home, following the sound of his voice. It was nice, his home, sort of empty. Basic, came to mind.

  It was night, but the kitchen light over the sink was on. She scanned the parts of his home she could see. It had that new-home look—basic furniture, but not much else. No pictures in here or anywhere, for that matter, she thought, scanning the walls. There was a table with four chairs around it she noted, passing through the kitchen. The counters were clean. She walked toward the bathroom.

  “What talk?” she said, surprised by the picture of him, leaning against the door frame—a perfect Mr. October, or whatever month he wanted to be.

  “The one where you ask him not to sell,” he said, hands on his hips. He was some kind of sexy.

  “I told you, it’s no use.”

  “Try, Carter,” he said, and he was serious now.

  “Maybe.”

  “You can’t run scared all of your life,” he said, deciding to push her. His chest was churning in overdrive after what they’d just shared.

  “I’m not running scared and you know what? I think I’ll go home now, because that was really nice what we had a few minutes ago and it’s about to be spoiled.”

  “Don’t leave. It’s the truth and you can’t run from that,” he said.

  “See you later,” she said, turning away. He pulled her to him, kissing her instead. Shower first. There is something I want to show you. There is something very special about this particular shower,” he said, smiling that smile again. She laughed and kissed him back.

  #

  “So, you’re going home tomorrow?” Rafael asked, over his shoulder, searching through his dresser for a t-shirt. He’d finished drying off after he and Carter’s cleansing shower. He was wiped, but in a good way, and he so wanted to crash. Carter had gone to the living room in search of her clothes.