by Rachel Rust
Across the street, random people milled along the sidewalk in front of a closed hardware shop. It looked like a scene from a movie with extras placed in precise locations to stoke a sense of small town charm. A gust of wind pushed a wave of dust down the faded, cracked asphalt road.
Small towns in real life were far less romantic than in movies.
“You miss Minneapolis, don’t you?” Nathan asked.
“Yeah, but I have to admit the quiet is kind of nice. In Minneapolis, we lived a block from a busy street, so there was always traffic noise. Even in the middle of the night.”
Nathan looked over his shoulder, watching a car roll by. “I like the quiet too, but the rez is seriously boring.” The furrow between his eyebrows deepened, but his silence made it quite clear that he was not going to share every thought bouncing around his head.
“Do you like living here?” I asked him, already knowing the answer.
His dead eyes confirmed my suspicions.
“Why did you move back from Colorado if you hate it here?”
Nathan crossed his arms. “It’s a long story.”
I waited for the long story, but it never came. All I got was an impromptu staring contest, which I quickly lost. Nathan Stone knew how to shut down a conversation.
“What’s your last name?” he asked.
I shoved aside my irritation over him dodging my question in order to answer his. “Lanski, and yes, I’m extremely Polish. My grandparents are all from Krakow, and my grandmas grew up only two blocks from each other.”
“Small world.”
I nodded, trying in vain to keep that stupid Disney song from infiltrating my mind. Ignoring the encroaching melody, I studied Nathan’s brown eyes and long black hair. I hesitated on my next words. “You’re Lakota, I assume?”
“Yeah,” he replied with a slight smile, seemingly sensing my worries of ignorance. “My dad’s Lakota, anyway. My mom was Cheyenne and something else. German, I think.”
All thoughts of ethnicities and Disney songs flushed away, replaced with thoughts of Nathan’s parents. Who they were, where they were, why he was living with his aunt and uncle. It was a giant brick wall in my brain. I’m sorry, Miss, this is the furthest you go.
I had no idea how to respond, so it was by sheer dumb luck that the server came by with our food. A million questions ran through my mind about his family, but I snuffed them out. The only thing more powerful than my curiosity was my desire to not screw up the date.
Nathan and I spent the next hour sitting across from one another at our small table, enjoying our food and talking with ease about whatever subject came up: his basketball game, my friends back in Minneapolis—anything aside from parental lineage or his move back to Thorn Creek. We talked nonstop. He was like an old friend. A hot old friend. I soaked in the sight of him, his voice, and the words he spoke. The vastness of the middle of nowhere—and the warnings about his past—began to fade.
When our server laid our ticket in between us, I lifted my hand, but Nathan grabbed it first.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“Are you sure? At least let me pay my half.”
“No, I asked, I’ll pay.”
“Okay, thanks.”
It felt more impolite to debate the check than it did to simply let him pay. Even so, twinges of unfairness pulled at my gut as he laid cash down over the check.
“Are you in a big hurry to get home?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“I wanna show you something.”
****
A quarter of a mile down Highway 84 from Nathan’s house, we turned onto a narrow gravel road. An iron sign sporting a large S hung over the road, suspended from thick wooden posts. A shelter belt of trees surrounded a large building with light wood siding and a steep-pitched green roof. Nathan parked in the gravel lot.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“The stables.”
“What stables?”
“My family’s stables.” He scanned my confused face with a smile. “I live on a ranch.”
“You do? For real?” It was something people did in movies, not in actual real life. I nodded to the building. “What’s in there? Cows or something?”
Nathan laughed. “Horses. We board and breed ’em.”
A smile broke out across my face. I had never been around horses before, only the little ponies at the state fair in Minnesota. And other than a few beach vacations, I hadn’t ventured out much. Ranches and horses were as foreign to me as my grandparents’ tales of Poland.
We entered the stable through large wooden doors. The inside was lit up with soft light. The wood ceilings vaulted up to a dramatic peak. We stood at the end of a long hall with stalls on either side. The first stall was empty, but a rustling noise came from the next. I peeked my head over to look. “Who’s this?” I asked, as a chocolate-brown horse stared back at me.
“Elvis.”
“Can I pet him?” I didn’t even know if pet was the right word.
“Yeah, he won’t mind.”
I placed my hand on Elvis’s large face, over his nose. He was smooth, and even from a light touch, the power behind his lean, muscular frame was evident. “Do you get to ride them?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’ve worked for my uncle for years, so I’m around ’em all the time.”
“That is so cool,” I said, my voice quiet. It was less of a statement and more of a random thought that escaped the confines of my brain.
We continued down the hallway, and every way my head turned I came face-to-face with another striking horse. Each of them had a beautiful coat and mane combination. I wanted to skip around the place like a kid in a candy store. So. Many. Pretty. Horses.
My juvenile delight escalated at the sight of Nathan opening the sliding door to one of the stalls. “Come here,” he said. I joined him at the door and peered in. A black horse with matching mane and tail peered back. The only part of her that wasn’t black was a white patch between her eyes. “This is Gracie. She’s the oldest and the friendliest.” He moved behind me in the doorway, giving me a better vantage point.
I ran my hand across Gracie’s large jowl as her eyes focused on me. The warmth of Nathan’s close body rubbed against my back. His face was less than a foot from mine; his lips were nicely shaped and far closer than they had ever been before. Every cell in my body yearned to press into him. Feel him. Smell him. Taste him.
Gracie twitched under my hand, making me jump. I pulled my hand away and slipped back out into the hallway, blushing.
Nathan slid and latched the stall door. We continued down the hall to a large central room. On the two adjacent sides of the room were doors, presumably leading outside. Straight ahead was another hallway with a darkened space over it.
“Is that a loft?” I asked.
“Yeah, c’mon.”
The stairs to the loft were steep and narrow. At the top, Nathan flipped on the lights. One side of the room was an open banister overlooking the central room below. Two gable windows overlooked the parking lot, and the fields beyond were blackened by the evening.
I pulled out my phone. It was 9:20.
“You gotta go?” Nathan asked from across the loft.
“It’s getting late. I don’t want to keep you from anything.”
He shrugged, looking back at the stalls below. “I’ve gotta clean a few stalls tonight, but that’s no big deal. Besides, I can always sleep in and skip my run.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I made a face. “You run for fun. What if it rains?”
“Then I get wet.”
Rain-soaked Nathan flashed before me—his wet t-shirt plastered to him in all the right places. I joined him at the loft banister where he leaned against the railing, arms crossed, looking edible even in a dry t-shirt.
“You should come running with me sometime,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“We don’t have to run far, maybe a mile, if that.”
I shook my
head. “No, I mean I really can’t.” I stuck my left leg out and bent my knee a few times. “I have a slight tear in my ACL.”
His eyebrows shot up. “How’d you do that? Did you play a sport?”
I moved my head, somewhere between a shake and a nod. “I danced. But that’s not how I did it.” Painful memories flooded my mind. “I was messing around with some friends, playing soccer, and before I know it, my knee twists and I collapse.”
Nathan’s face contorted slightly. “When did that happen?”
“This summer,” I said. “Worst day of my life. Even worse than the day my parents told me we were moving away from Minneapolis—the only city I had ever known.” My knee injury was a day in my life I tried not to think about anymore. The memories flooded in every once in a while, as memories do, but I always kicked them out of my head just as soon as they showed up. I couldn’t think about it. At least not without re-feeling the hot tears and the squeeze in my chest, more painful and scary than anything I had ever felt before: The feeling of utter hopelessness.
“ACLs can be repaired, ya know,” Nathan said.
“Did my mom tell you to say that?”
He looked flummoxed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, that’s okay,” I said. “She’s just been on me to get it repaired and I’ll have to someday, but I hate doctors and the idea of all the physical therapy afterwards.”
Nathan stared down at my knee. “What kind of dancing did you do?”
“Nothing involving a pole.”
He grinned and shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking that. I just …”
Sure he wasn’t. “Ballet, lyrical, hip hop. Mostly ballet. I started when I was three.”
“That’s a long time. If you get the ACL repaired, will you be able to dance again?”
“Maybe, but probably not at the same level of competition.”
He paused. “This isn’t your favorite subject, is it?”
“Not really.” I looked out at the square boxes of horse stalls below. “It’s not just the dancing itself. It’s the fact that dancing is all I’ve ever done. I was never in any other sport, and I never really thought about doing anything else.” I sighed, leaning a hip against the rail. “It probably sounds stupid, but I always wanted to dance in New York City. But now … I don’t know. It’s like I have to rethink everything. Find something else to be interested in.”
Nathan remained silent for a while, during which time I convinced myself that I had talked and whined for too long and he was ready to end his date with the neurotic, insecure redhead. But instead, he reached for my hand, sending a warm tingle through my skin.
I stared at my hand in his. “I guess if there’s one good thing about having a messed-up knee, it’s that I can legitimately get myself out of running with you.”
We broke into laughter.
As our laughs subsided, Nathan didn’t drop his piercing gaze. “I guess if we can’t go running, then we’ll have to find other fun ways to pass the time.”
The blood flushed from my face and headed south. It was unclear if he had meant his words as dirty as my head had interpreted them. I hoped so.
The intense silence between us grew louder as he continued staring down at me. His long black hair cascaded behind his broad shoulders. His physical presence made me send a mental apology to my parents for all the times I had complained about moving to Thorn Creek. If only he had been in the brochure.
His thumb brushed the back of my hand. My stomach flipped over.
“I had a good time tonight,” I said in barely more than a whisper.
He leaned his imposing form my way, and my lungs were scarcely able to breathe. His perfect lips were right in front of my eyes, and a trickle of his breath hit my forehead. My bare neck and arms tingled under his radiating body heat, and every ounce of longing within me leaned his way. My eyes closed the moment his lips pressed warm and smooth into mine, parting them slightly, and spinning my brain with a dizzying concoction of scent and taste.
His hands wrapped around my waist, drawing me in close. Our bodies pressed together; his more solid than I had imagined. His tongue slid against mine, and my fingers clutched tighter to him as I fought my body’s urge to climb him like a tree, to wrap my legs around him and never let go. I longed for a wall—to be pinned up against it in a passionate rage. But there wasn’t a wall, there was an open banister, and innate thoughts of self-preservation came rushing in. With realization of free fall in my future, I slowed down, closing off my lips. Nathan pulled back and leaned his forehead against mine. Blood rushed through my body with a deafening current.
I forced rational thoughts to stamp out the raging fire sizzling my insides. “I, um, I should probably get going.” Leaving him was the last thing I wanted to do.
We locked eyes, neither of us moving.
Finally, he spoke. “C’mon, I’ll drive you back to your car.”
I would have let him drive me anywhere.
Chapter Eighteen
He’s Taking It Back
The cab of the pickup was dark and silent as I drove Lydia back to her car. I could still feel the pressure of her lips against mine, and I could still taste her and feel her body pressed up against mine. My foot pressed down on the accelerator, eager to get back into town where I could throw the truck into park and kiss her again.
I slowed and turned onto Broadway Street. A block later, I stopped the truck in the middle of the road.
“Oh my God,” Lydia said.
The trees in front of the high school were strung high and low with toilet paper. It clung to the tops of the bare-branched trees, wrapped around the pine trees, and looped all throughout the black iron railings that separated the grass from the sidewalk. Punctuations of white hung here and there, like a large modern art creation.
I let up on the brake, inching the truck closer, bringing the school and its TP glory into full view. In the parking lot, I stopped next to Lydia’s CRV. The trees surrounding the parking lot were also draped in white. We both exited the truck with laughter and I slipped my fingers between hers, needing to feel her again.
“My God,” she said, looking up at the canopy overhead, “This going to take forever to—”
“Hello there.” Chet Rollins stepped out of a large shadow on the far end of the parking lot. “What are you doing, Mr. Stone?”
“Standing in a parking lot.”
Rollins flashed an unamused smile, and I would’ve loved to fucking punch him right then and there.
“Did we do something wrong?” Lydia asked.
“Nope, I’m only making friendly conversation,” Rollins said. “You two wouldn’t have happened to be here within the past hour or so, would you?”
“No.”
Rollins stared at Lydia for a while, then shifted his eyes back to me. He motioned to the streams of toilet paper above us. “Sure you weren’t here a little while ago, Nathan? Did you come back to admire your work? Maybe you thought it would impress your date.”
I clenched my teeth and fought to keep the anger out of my voice. “I did not do this.”
“He didn’t,” Lydia said with confusion on her face. “How could he have done it? He was with me.”
Rollins’s eyes narrowed as she spoke, as if he didn’t believe her. Then he nodded to her car. “All right then, go on home and stay outta trouble.” He stood unmoving, arms crossed.
Lydia took her hand from mine and stepped back. “I’ll see you … Monday at school?”
“Tomorrow.” It was supposed to be a question, but it came out as a declaration. There was no way I could go the rest of the weekend without her.
She smiled. “Okay, tomorrow then.”
I grabbed her hand as she turned to get into her car. “Wait.” Ignoring the leering eyes of Rollins and giving into a surge from within my core that I could no longer ignore, I pulled her in and pressed my lips to hers. My entire head filled with coconut and the slight scent of honey from whatever shampoo she used. T
he cool night and the jackass cop both disappeared. When Lydia pulled back, she stroked my cheek with her thumb. My eyes flickered at the soft touch. Unable to speak, I stepped back as she got into her car. She then drove off with a little wave through the window.
I turned back to my truck.
“Not so fast,” Rollins said. From his back pocket he produced a light blue lanyard, the same kind every student at the high school was issued. And clipped to the end of each one was the student’s ID. “This yours?”
My own ID stared back at me. I yanked it from Rollins’s hand. “Must’ve dropped it.”
“Must’ve.” Rollins looked to the other side of the parking lot. “Found it over there, right next to a few empty toilet paper rolls.” He hooked his thumbs into his utility belt and sauntered slowly into my personal space. “Mr. Stone, I get that some pieces of shit don’t wanna change, and even if you’re happy being a piece of shit, I’m sure as hell not gonna let you smear yourself all over the good parts of this town.” Rollins nodded towards Lydia’s tail lights which were disappearing into the dark night. “Especially not innocent girls like that.”
His words twisted in my gut. I didn’t need to be told there were huge differences between me and Lydia. It wasn’t even our skin tones, or the fact that I was a rez kid and she was from Minneapolis. It was the fact that she was beautiful and smart and smelled good—while I probably smelled like horseshit half the time. She was coconut. I was manure.
“Go home, Stone,” Rollins said, taking one more step directly in front of me.
Back the fuck up.
“Or better yet,” Rollins continued, “do us all a favor and go back to Denver.”
My lip curled. “I’ll do you a favor, Rollins.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I won’t tell your boss that you’re screwing his daughter.”
Rollins’s nostrils flared.
The rumor that Rollins and Principal Jackson were sleeping together wasn’t news; the entire town knew. Police Chief Jackson probably already knew, too. I just wanted to see Rollins’s reaction.