Loving Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

  “Yeah but why would you spend the night at my house? Without the girls?”

  He considered the gaping hole in his plan that was sure to raise suspicion.

  “Financial planning.” He snapped his fingers. “I told you that I’d help you come up with ways to grow your money. And since we’ll be brainstorming late into the night, it made sense for me to just sleep on the futon in your art room.”

  “I don’t have any money. Loren manages all that.”

  “Then we’re going to come up with a revenue-generating plan for your art. It’s time you become a productive member of society.”

  She side-eyed him. “Okay, but we’ll really have to do all that so we’re not lying.”

  “Understood. It’s something we needed to do anyway.”

  “It all sounds good in theory…”

  Crap, she was hem-hawing. He was losing her.

  “Everything we’re going to tell Trev will be the truth. And at the end of the day, we will have helped my friend, developed some future business contacts, and made you less of a drain on society. It’s a win-win-win.”

  “Maybe we pull back on the messaging where I’m an aspirational bottom-feeder.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, but you wanted to be honest…”

  She heaved a sigh and glared at him, but then he saw the light at the end of the tunnel as she slowly nodded her head which was always a good sign during a negotiation.

  She pinched her bottom lip in contemplation. “And Cara’s spending the night with Ally, so I don’t have to worry about you doing anything weird, like sniffing her hair while she’s sleeping.”

  “I deny that ever happened,” he retorted with a sniff. “I was merely setting a glass of water on her night stand.”

  “Right. How about the time I caught you gazing at her from the hallway while she was brushing her teeth?”

  He looked to the side with a broad smile. “She does have blindingly pearlescent incisors,” he remarked dazedly. “I love a woman with a strong dental hygiene regimen.”

  “Okay, tell me again why I’m doing this?” Mercy asked.

  “Excellent question. Because you’re a good person and an awesome friend, Mercy Ingalls. And friends help one another out and have each other’s backs.”

  “Fine,” she said, finally conceding. “As long as we don’t tell a single lie.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan and not quite enough time.” — Leonard Bernstein

  Cara glanced at the time on her phone.

  Nine thirty. She had arrived at the party less than twenty minutes ago and was ready to leave.

  She could hardly believe how many people were drinking and smoking and… touching. And to make matters more uncomfortable, Ally and Amarilla had yet to show, saying that they got waylaid by Amarilla’s grandfather, Levi, who had gone into deep interrogation mode with the girls and only finally allowed them to exit the house when Cara got on the phone and confirmed they were coming over to watch the musical documentary, Woodstock.

  And like Cara, they said their goodbyes and spirited out of the house, jumping in Eddie Baskin’s car—a junior, who for the low price of ten dollars per person, would take you to that evening’s unauthorized rager.

  Once Levi heard Cara’s assuring voice, it was a done deal.

  Apparently, even men in their seventies, living in the small town of Wilder, knew she was boring and lame. And a safe bet for their granddaughter to spend the night with.

  Well, not tonight. Or so she thought a half an hour ago. Now she couldn’t wait until they got here so she could convince them to leave.

  As she walked through the wooded area, kids would do a double take, shocked to see little Ms. Nobody at a kegger. A few of the nicer girls smiled. Girls in her same social strata, who were on the precipice of being pegged as nerdy and barely passable themselves, glanced at her with silent commiseration by giving her a quick smile or a head nod.

  Oh, my gosh. This was literally painful.

  What if she started hyperventilating?

  She meandered toward the bonfire, trying to appear nonchalant and willing her racing heart to slow its roll. Acting as if she totally belonged where drugs and alcohol were being consumed, when everyone’s heads turned at a group of guys who had just arrived.

  It was your typical high school football pack where they sauntered into the party as a tribe, ready to assess their options and home in on their prey.

  But her eyes found Landon’s, and she couldn’t help but smile when his entire body appeared to electrify at seeing her. She blushed and looked at the ground and back up again as she gave him a finger wave and then felt ridiculous.

  She wasn’t some prom queen or debutante. Who was she to wiggle her fingers seductively at the varsity quarterback?

  Nobody, that was who.

  But before she could find the path to escape to the main road and wave down a passing car, Landon was standing in front of her, looking at her as if she were an aberration.

  She swallowed and stared up at him.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. I almost didn’t come.”

  She dipped her head, doing her best to hide a smile to avoid letting him see how his words thrilled her.

  “Yeah, Ally and Amarilla talked me into coming, but they’re late. I was feeling pretty stupid without any of my friends here.”

  “Well, I’m here now,” he said, and then he touched her hand, and before she knew what was up, he was HOLDING HER HAND.

  He gave her that trademark smile with craters for dimples, and her legs went weak. “And now I’m not letting you go.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she asked with a dip of her head. Because she instantly lost IQ points, as well as the ability to converse.

  “Yeah,” he said before bringing the back of her hand to his mouth AND KISSING IT.

  Was this even happening right now? Was he kissing her? It wasn’t on the mouth, but come on. It was on the back of her hand, which was totally romantic and super sweet. Right?

  But wait, why wasn’t she spitting mad? Why wasn’t she shoving him and telling him that he was being inappropriate and not to ever touch her again?

  Because she wanted him to touch her.

  Like, really bad.

  And not just her hands.

  She gazed into his eyes, again unable to master the English language, although arias were exploding all around her and it was all she could do to keep from humming and spinning in exuberant circles.

  Out of nowhere, Amarilla and Ally appeared by her side, breathing heavily as if they’d been running a cross-country race, severing her first time ever hand-holding with a boy by taking turns hugging her, as if neither one of them had just seen her hours before at school.

  “Oh, wow,” Cara said, confused by their overexaggerated behavior. “You two are so… excited.”

  “We’re just so happy you’re here!” Amarilla squealed, while using some pretty impressive peripheral vision skills to assess her surroundings for preferred members of the opposite sex.

  Ally was also scoping the premises, probably for Manny, and lasered in on her target sitting next to the bonfire. He was staring boldly at her friend with the heated expression of pure-grain teenage yearning.

  “Go on,” Cara said, nudging her in the arm with her shoulder. “You know you want to.”

  Ally’s face suddenly turned three shades of red. “I’m here to spend time with my friends,” she replied unconvincingly.

  Cara turned to say something to Amarilla, but she was already on the other side of the bonfire with a red Solo cup in her hand, giving the keeper of the keg a serious once-over.

  “We may want to keep an eye on Amarilla…” Cara turned to Ally but found that she too had made her way to Manny, her hands in her back pockets, and laughing at something he said as if it were hilarious.

  Interesting.

  Was that how she should act?

  As she scanned t
he other kids and studied their interactions, she realized this seemed to be the mutually agreed-upon behavior. The girls all acted with magnified personalities while the guys hung back, allowing them to perform for them.

  It was all so fake and shallow.

  Thankfully, Landon was a mind reader. “Hey, you want to get away from all this?” he asked, and at first, she felt relief, but the feeling instantly morphed to heightened anxiety when she wondered if that was code for something else. Something more romantic.

  Now she felt unsure and hesitant, where, a minute ago, she was ready to jump in his lap and try all the bases.

  Well, not all the bases.

  Oh God, now she wasn’t even sure about the first one.

  As if translating her reluctance, he added, “Just to talk. Nothing else. Or nothing that you don’t want to do.”

  She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and his eyes dropped to them like a heat-seeking missile.

  He finally looked away as if in pain. “You call the shots.”

  “Where to?” she asked, taking in her surroundings.

  Seriously, there didn’t appear to be many options. Either sit on a fallen tree log, wade in the creek, or jump in the back seat of someone’s car that was left unlocked.

  “There’s a boulder that overlooks the creek past those trees. We could talk and… well… just talk.”

  “Okay,” she said, and then her heart began to race again as he grabbed her hand, but this time he laced his fingers through hers, and once again…

  KISSED THE BACK OF HER HAND.

  Was this what they called foreplay? Because, just like magic, she was back to being all-in, which was evidenced by the fact she was mindlessly following him through the dense thicket of trees.

  After a couple of minutes of Landon pulling tree limbs out of her way, and her reeling from the lofty scent of fragrant sumac, honeysuckle, and his heavy-handed cologne, the creek appeared. And as promised, a huge boulder that hung over the rippling water provided the perfect place to sit together in privacy and do some more hand kissing.

  He led the way to the edge of the boulder, helping her as if she had never walked on her own before, and she kind of liked it. He leaned down and sat first, throwing his legs over the edge, still holding her hand tight, but also placing his other hand on her hip to help her balance as she sat next to him.

  Then he scooted closer.

  He leaned back with his arm braced behind her and she’d been fibbing if she claimed she didn’t feel protected and cherished sitting there in the moonlight with this almost man snuggled close to her.

  “So why did you come?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  She knew what he meant.

  “Why tonight? You’ve never come to any of the parties before.”

  Should she tell him the truth? That it was a last-minute response to Loren bailing on her? Or the more subversive reason: that she was looking for an excuse to do something outside of her comfort zone, something exciting and wrong and maybe even a little naughty? She was tired of always being the good one. Maybe, for once, she wanted to dip her toe into the world of normal teenage delinquent behavior.

  “I guess I thought it would be fun.” She hated that she wasn’t being honest. This wasn’t who she was, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start acting like a ditz to capture the attention of a boy.

  “No, that’s not true,” she corrected. “I came to retaliate against my sister who was supposed to pick me up from school today and bailed on me. And because I’m tired of always being lame and boring. And because I wanted to see you. You know, outside of school. Maybe get to know you better.”

  “Lame? Seriously? I happen to think you’re the most interesting girl in school. Lame is the last word I’d ever use to describe Cara Ingalls.”

  She blushed yet again. “It’s okay. I know I’m not part of the popular crowd. You don’t have to pretend. Otherwise, I’m cool with it.”

  Okay, that wasn’t altogether true. “I mean, I’m not really cool with it… sometimes I wish I were part of the ‘in’ crowd. When you’re not, it’s like you’re standing on the outside of a bakery window, looking in at all the fun and deliciousness, wishing you were one of the lucky people eating all of the crullers.”

  Silence dragged between them. Finally, Landon said, “I think once you make your way inside the bakery, you’d discover the crullers aren’t so hot after all.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, the day-old crullers are hard as a rock.”

  “You’re right then, I would be disappointed if that were the case.”

  “Do you want to know why I like you?”

  “I really, really do, because I’m starting to wonder if you’re a masochist or something.”

  “There, right there. What girl in high school uses the word masochist? Or does so correctly? Or admits to wanting to eat crullers and feeling shitty about it.”

  “I didn’t say I felt shit—”

  “And what high school girl gives the varsity quarterback the amount of grief that you’ve given me?”

  “Well, I might have gone a little over—”

  “Most high school girls flip their hair and bat their fake-ass eyelashes at me, asking how they might service me.”

  She gasped. “You can’t be ser—”

  “Not you. Not Cara Ingalls. Cara Ingalls questions my intentions, assumes the worst, and never cuts me any slack.”

  Cara blinked several times, unsure how to respond. Was he saying this was a good thing? Or that she was a ball-busting nag?

  “You make me want to be a better person.”

  “I do?”

  He nodded. “You make me want to kiss you.”

  “I do?” she squeaked, so close to him, all she would have to do was to move a quarter of an inch, and she could make his wish come true.

  And somehow, they were kissing, and his hand was cradling her cheek. For some inexplicable reason, she knew what to do, how to move, and found herself in perfect sync with him.

  The vibrating sound of her phone, along with the audible alert that she had a text, had them separating from one another instantly.

  “Sorry,” she said, reaching back for the mobile phone in the back pocket of her jeans. “This might be something important.”

  He nodded, and together they read the text.

  Cara, it’s Samantha. I’m in trouble

  “Oh my God, it’s Samantha,” she said, and texted back:

  Where are you? I’ll come get you

  Go to 1014 Waylon Street in Raley. I’ll tell you everything when you get here. Please don’t tell anyone and come alone. It’s kind of embarrassing

  “How does she expect a freshman to get to a town that’s an hour south of Wilder?”

  “I’ll call a Lyft.”

  “Don’t you have to be a certain age to do that?”

  She nodded. “Eighteen.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “You can’t. She said to come alone.”

  “I’m sorry, but there is no way you’re going to Raley, Texas by yourself. That’s not happening.”

  “But what if she’s in danger, and I’ll only be making it worse?”

  “If she’s in danger, that’s all the more reason I should go with you.”

  Nate was running late.

  Trevor didn’t make it home from work until eight thirty, and it took Mercy a lot longer than anticipated to run through their predetermined script.

  Now it was close to ten thirty, and he and Mercy were finally pulling into the hidden driveway, into an equally hidden field from the road, with a band of woods as an idyllic backdrop.

  Too bad the venue was solely for ill-conceived plans of teenage drunken debauchery.

  They could see a bonfire about two hundred feet away and the tips of lit cigarettes and other questionable substances in the distance. To the right of the bonfire sat two kegs with kids lined up with their plastic cups.

  He op
ened the car door, in a hurry to find Cara, but Mercy grabbed him by the arm. “If you’re not back within an hour, I’m getting out of this car and looking for you.”

  He looked at her with wide eyes. “We agreed I had until midnight.”

  She was backstabbing him!

  “I don’t like this,” Mercy said, looking toward the swirling fire. “Doesn’t feel right, Nate. I’m sorry, but you’ve got one hour.”

  Nate clenched his jaw. He really didn’t have the time to argue with her. “Fine.” He slid out of the seat and before slamming the door, he growled, “Totally not cool, Mercy.”

  He made his way through the wide expanse of what appeared to be an open field left fallow for the year, giving the soil a chance to regain nutrients lost by chronic overplanting.

  In his mind, if you wanted to know the quality of food you were eating, you had to learn how it was grown.

  Once reaching the bonfire, he searched for someone he could tap on the shoulder. He instantly found Amarilla, who was sitting on a football player’s lap, with one hand holding a red disposable cup and her tongue scouring the contents of his esophagus.

  Eww.

  Rather than interrupt that disturbing tableau, he searched the crowd for Ally. If Amarilla was here, it was likely Ally would be as well.

  With a sigh of relief, he found her talking to some other upperclassmen with Manny Winchester’s arms around her waist, glued to her back, and whispering in her ear.

  Okay, not the perfect scenario, but far less repulsive than what Amarilla was up to.

  He made his way through the throng of partiers. One senior pointed at him and yelled, “Hey, there’s that little dude in my advanced physics class! He’s like a fucking ten-year-old genius.”

  “I’m twelve, you Homo erectus,” he muttered under his breath, “and the next time we work together on a class project covering angular velocity, you might want to make sure your calculator is set to radians rather than freaking degrees.”