“You know it, but I just wanted to call and see how it was going over there in Cameron.”
On their own accord, my eyes flick to Wes who’s still standing there, listening to my one-sided conversation. “It’s goin’ good, real good, actually. Mr. and Mrs. Adams bought two new Appaloosa mares and asked if I’d help their son get them broken in. Plus, you know, the kids will be here next week, and you know how much I love that.”
“So there’s a boy there, huh?” she asks, with a teasing tone. No. Not a boy. A man. Definitely a man. A blush instantly burns my face, making me wonder if I’m on fire. I don’t know why I’m as embarrassed by this question as a fourteen-year-old having her first major crush.
Instead of answering her question, I rush off the phone. There’s no need to go into detail, especially with him standing right here in front of me. “Hey, I gotta go, but I love you and miss you and I’ll call soon.” I hurry to disconnect the call.
As soon as I slip my phone in my back pocket, Wes asks, “Why is your face so red?”
Damn him. I really wish he wasn’t so perceptive. “Because I just got out of the shower, but you should know that. You did pay me a visit, remember?”
“Oh, you can bet your sweet, southern ass I remember.” He laughs.
“Did you need something?” I know there has to be a reason why he came to my room. With my arms crossed over my chest, I wait for him to answer.
“I’m sure I did, but now I forgot.” A grin tugs at the corners of his lips.
“I bet you did,” I murmur as I squeeze past him into the hallway. Without looking back at him, my phone chimes. It’s a text message and I know it’s my Aunt, but I choose to ignore it. She’s probably wants to remind me this conversation is not over.
The smell of bacon invades my senses and causes me to jog down the stairs to my destination. The kitchen. Sandy stands behind the stove in an apron to protect her clothes. The grease pops and sizzles as she flips strips of bacon. “Good morning, Mrs. Sandy.”
“Oh, hey, Kenleigh. I didn’t hear you come in the kitchen.” She doesn’t look up from the stove as she moves to another skillet to scramble the eggs.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Actually, you can. I have a bag of oranges in the fridge. If you look in that cupboard over there,” she points beside the pantry, “there’s a juicer somewhere along with a pitcher. Could you make some orange juice?”
“Absolutely.” I rummage through the cabinet until I find the juicer and the container. Sitting them on the counter, I turn to the fridge for the oranges. I grab a knife from the butcher block, and set to work making fresh, squeezed orange juice. Just as I finish up, a freshly showered Wes strolls into the kitchen and smiles directly at me. Denim jeans cover his long legs and hang loosely from his hips. I can’t help but notice how his dark blue T-shirt stretches over his broad shoulders and hugs his biceps nicely. The material clings to his chest and stomach, and makes me wish I was that damn T-shirt. When he stretches his arms above his head, my eyes hone in on the sliver of skin playing peek-a-boo between the hem of his shirt and the top of his jeans. I pry my eyes away from him and shake my head clear of any thoughts containing Wesley Adams.
“Hey, Mom. Need help with anything?” He drops his arms back to his sides before walking toward the island in the kitchen.
“Yep, you can set the table. Breakfast is almost done.”
He nods his head, plucks the plates out of the cabinet above me, and the silverware from the drawer next to me, barely brushing my hip with the back of his hand. “Good morning, Kenleigh,” he whispers, leaving me with goose bumps and speechless.
Fuck, he smells so good, like musk, citrus, and fabric softener. Inwardly, I groan as I realize just how screwed I am.
“Good mornin’.” I pretend that I didn’t feel what he just did to me.
“How did you sleep?” he asks, not looking up from the table he’s setting.
“Fine. Thank you,” I reply, remembering I need glasses for everyone’s drinks.
“How was the bed? It’s new.” Sandy chimes in.
“Very comfortable. It sleeps better than my bed back at the dorm that’s for sure. Uh… Mrs. Sandy, where do you keep the glasses?” I ask, not wanting to dig through her cabinets any more than I already have.
“I’m so sorry, dear. They’re over there.” She points to the cabinet next to the one Wes pulled the plates out of just a couple of minutes ago. “You’ll learn where everything is soon enough,” she adds, as I pull out four glasses.
“Do you know if Brantley is having breakfast with us?”
“I’m pretty sure he is, Hun. But if he isn’t in here in the next five minutes, we’ll just start without him.”
“Do you need help with anything else?” I feel like I should be contributing more than just making orange juice.
“Nope. I think I’m all set. It’s ready, so y’all just help yourselves while I go and get that husband of mine from the barn.” She unties her apron from around her neck and waist, hanging it on a hook, and heads out of the kitchen.
Just as I turn around to pick my plate up off the table, I run into a hard, solid chest. Wes’ chest. The plate in my hands slips from grasp, but with cat-like reflexes, Wes catches it right before it hits the floor. Shocked and wide eyed, I look up to apologize. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see… You were just over… And then you were…” I shut my eyes tightly and take a deep breath as I try to gain my composure.
“It’s fine.”
Slowly, my eyes open and I meet blue ones staring back at me.
“It’s fine,” he says again, softer this time. “Here, you might need this.” Wes hands me the plate back.
“Thank you,” I whisper, trying my hardest not to meet his impenetrable stare. When he notices that I won’t meet his gaze, he steps back, and lets me pass by.
I take a minute to collect myself before I turn and watch Wes pile food on his plate. “Are you mad at me?” he asks.
“Why would I be mad at you?” I’m confused. I don’t know why he would think I’d be mad. He caught my plate before it hit the floor.
“For earlier. For walking in on you in the shower.”
Oh yes, the shower incident. “Honestly. No. I’m not mad at you.”
“Really?” He spins around with his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.
His expression is so cute that I can’t help but laugh. “Really. As much as I want to be mad at you, I can’t. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not giving you permission to keep on barging in on me in the shower or anything, but I realize that you were just trying to be nice. I didn’t stop to look if there were towels in the cabinet, which I should have. So, in a weird sort of way, thank you.”
“Anytime.” He leans against the counter next to the stove, and nibbles on a piece of bacon.
I walk up, poke him in the chest, and as I try not to laugh as I tell him that he needs to knock before just helping himself to occupied bathrooms.
With a chuckle of his own, he reaches down and catches my finger. “The next time you wanna poke my chest, just ask. I don’t hold reservations about pretty women touching me.”
At the same time, our eyes trail down to my finger still firmly pressed against his chest. With a gasp, I quickly pull my hand away as if I’d just stuck it on a hot stove. “I bet you don’t,” I reply evenly. I don’t know why I care, but I do. I don’t really like the thought of him letting other women touch him. Swallowing my bitterness at the thought, I look over at the stove.
“Holy crap! Your mom cooked for an army,” I say, taking in the amount of food she’s prepared. Scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, bacon, sausage, ham, and fresh fruit litter the stove and surrounding counter tops.
“Mom doesn’t know how to cook for just a few people. But you should know this since you were here last summer.”
“Well, last summer, I stayed in the volunteer quarters, so I never saw breakfast prepared as soon as it was done.” I load a
little bit of everything onto my plate. I haven’t eaten this well since Christmas, and that’s when I was home with Aunt Brenda.
“Did you come here early like you did this year?” he asks.
“No. I came at the same time as every other volunteer. Your parents saw how well I got along with the horses and asked if I would consider coming again this summer, and if I’d come early to help get everything in order before the kids got here. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I shrug as if it’s not a big deal, because to me, it’s not. There’s no place else that I’d rather be.
After setting my plate down and pouring some orange juice, I take a seat at the table. Wes fills the seat on the other side of me, looks at me closely, and asks curiously, “You really like being here, huh?”
Right before I can answer, the screen door swings open with Will, Sandy, and Brantley in tow. “Breakfast is all done. Go ahead and help yourself, Brantley,” Sandy says, then turns her attention to her husband. “Go take a seat while I make our plates and pour us some juice.” She kisses her husband sweetly on his lips. I duck my head, feeling awkward by their public display of affection.
“So? What’s the plan for today, kids?” Will asks, taking a seat at the head of the table.
“I thought Kenleigh and I would take Lucy and Jane out of the stall and walk them in the corral pen,” Wes answers before I can speak.
“I figured I could take Autumn out for a while later on, too. That is, if you don’t mind Mr. Will?” My eyes flick between Wes and his father.
“I think it all sounds great. Lucy and Jane could both use an introduction to the corral pen. And I know Autumn would love to go for a ride. Just not anything too strenuous, okay?” Will nods as Sandy places his food in front of him.
A smile graces my face as I watch the love between Mr. and Mrs. Adams. With that smile comes a sense of longing as I remember how my own mom and dad looked at each other in the exact same way. I push the memories back and finish my food. I rise from the table and rinse my plate before depositing it in the dishwasher.
“Mrs. Sandy? Do you need help cleaning up?”
“I got it. You go ahead. I know you have things that you wanna do.” She shoos me out of the kitchen.
“Actually, I need to run into town. Do y’all need anything while I’m out?” I ask.
“I need to pick some stuff up too,” Wes answers. “Why don’t I come with you?”
“All right, I’m just going to get my stuff from my room. You’ll let me know when you’re ready?”
“Yeah, just give me a few minutes.”
With that, I disappear upstairs and into my room. I check myself over in the mirror, taking in my white washed, cutoff, denim shorts, brown tank top, and brown cowboy boots. With a couple swipes of mascara and some lip-gloss, I’m ready to go. As soon as my hand touches the doorknob, it vibrates from the knock on the other side. I pull it open to see Wes on the other side. His eyes roam up and down my body. I roll my eyes at his audacity. “You ready?”
“Yep. You want to take your Jeep or my truck?” he asks, giving him me the option.
“Your truck,” I say, exiting my room. “On one condition—”
“If you can drive it,” he interrupts.
I know I’m wearing a cocky-ass grin, but he drove my Jeep last night, so it’s only fair that I get to drive his truck. “That’s right. I wanna drive it. So, what’ll it be?” With my hand on my hip, one corner of my lip turned up, and an eyebrow arched, I wait for him to answer me.
I watch the wheels in his head turning, before he finally huffs out a puff of air. “Fine, you can drive her, but only if you’ll hang out with me tonight.”
“Fine,” I reply, short and sweet. I can handle hanging out with Wes if it means I can drive his sexy ass truck. “You ready?” I stick my hand out and wait. When the cold metal of keys meets my palm, I squeal like a kid on Christmas morning, and haul ass downstairs before he can change his mind.
With the windows down and Wes in the passenger seat, I pull onto the long, winding driveway that leads to the main road. I reach over to turn up the music but Wes stops me by placing his hand on mine. “Before you do that, we need to go over some ground rules with my truck.” His tone is serious and it takes all the will power I have not to laugh at him.
Slowly, my head gravitates in his direction, giving him an incredulous look. Ground rules? He can’t be serious. Not able to contain it any longer, I erupt into a fit of laughter. “What? You can’t be serious?” I ask, laughing even harder, tears gathering in my eyes.
“Right there,” he says, pointing at me. “No laughing. You need to stay focused on the road.”
I snap my mouth shut and press my lips into a hard line as I try to hold in the laughter that is begging to break through. No laughing? What the fuck?
“No loud music either. It’s a distraction.” He places my hand back on the steering wheel.
My head whips in his direction, and with an eyebrow arched, and a mischievous smile, I look between him and the road. “So, if I did this,” I say, turning the music up loud. “Would that be breaking one of your rules?” I yell over the booming sounds of Jake Owen’s Eight Second Ride.
“That’s not funny,” he grumbles and turns the music back down to a barely audible level.
“Oh, come on. It was a little funny.” I chuckle, and show a smidgen of space between my forefinger and thumb.
I can tell he’s doing his best to fight a smile, but then he adds, “Avoid potholes. I don’t want my rims scratched up.”
Automatically, I swerve and hit the mother of all potholes. Wes bounces up out of his seat, and bumps into the door as his hand flies to the oh-shit handle above his head. I bust at the seams with laughter when I see his face. His eyes are the size of saucers. He has a white-knuckle grip on the handle above his head, and his posture is as rigid as a cliff overlooking the water, unyielding to its element. “You think that’s funny?” he asks.
“Hell, yeah, I do! You’re a bull rider, but yet a few potholes scare you. You think you’d be used to being jostled around a bit,” I reply, still laughing. I have no choice but to pull over. The tears in my eyes from minutes ago return with a vengeance. My cheeks hurt from the smile that won’t leave my face. A stitch pierces my side from the uncontrollable laughter. Just when I think I’m able to gain some type of composure, I look to a see a humorless Wes staring at me with a dubious expression.
After a couple of minutes and many deep calming breaths, he says, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you drive. Come on. Get out. I’m driving the rest of the way.” When his hand hits the handle to open his door, I hastily reach the button beside me, locking us in.
“Uh-uh. I let you drive my Jeep, and I didn’t give you any ground rules, so I’m gonna drive your truck,” I say, stopping him from trying to evict me from the driver side.
“You do realize I can unlock the door, right? And, by the way, I gave you a shot at driving my truck, and you blew it.”
“Wait! Wait!” I reach for his arm and pull him away from the door. “How about I make you a deal? What if I follow one of your ground rules?”
“Double or nothing,” he replies, with a smirk.
“One?”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Fine. Which one?”
“I won’t hit anymore potholes, but come on, the laughing and the whole no music thing is a tad ridiculous, don’t you think? I even heard you blaring your music coming up the driveway yesterday.”
“Okay. I see your point, but I promise, if you hit anymore potholes, I will haul your little ass out of this truck myself,” he says, settling back into his seat.
“Fair enough.” I shift the truck back into drive, ease it back onto the main road, and this time avoid potholes.
After a few minutes of quiet background music and uncomfortable silence, I can’t take it anymore. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“No laughing, really? Why on Earth would you make that a grou
nd rule?” I didn’t want to ask, but I just couldn’t help myself.
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“You asked for it. I like your laugh. You sound so full of life and so free that it makes me want things I shouldn’t,” he replies, his eyes trained on me.
That’s not at all what I expected him to say. I swallow hard and keep my eyes trained on the road. Quietly, I clear my throat before I sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, because I like to laugh, and I like to laugh a lot. So, you better get used to it.” I give a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere within the truck.
“What did you need to get from the store?” he asks, successfully changing the subject.
“Oh… um… I forgot my robe back at my dorm, so I need to pick up one.”
“Is that why I saw you hauling ass into the bathroom this morning?” He laughs. Funny how the tables have turned, and now he’s the one laughing at me.
“Well, if you saw me, then you already have the answer to your question. Don’t you?” If I looked in a mirror right now, I’m sure my face would be the color of a beet. I can feel the heat penetrating off my skin. I can’t believe that, after being so careful, I still got caught after all.
“I like the little shorts you sleep in,” he says in a quiet voice.
Now it’s my turn to change the topic. “I think it would be a good idea when we get back if we put the saddle pads on while we walk Lucy and Jane in the corral. You know, to ease them into having the added weight on their backs.” I pull into a parking spot outside of Kris’ department store. “I hope you don’t mind if we stop here first? We’ll go wherever you need after I pick up a robe,” I say as I turn off and jump out of the truck.
“Sounds good to me.”
Wes follows my exit and meets me around the front of his truck. Nonchalantly, he drapes his arm over my shoulders and pulls me into his side. I try to act as if I don’t realize how perfectly I fit tucked in next to him. I try to act as if the musky, citrus scent of him doesn’t suck me in. I want to act like there isn’t something pulling me to him, but I’d be lying to myself if I said those things didn’t affect me. Instead, I try to play it off. Playfully, I shove him away and laugh as he tries to put some swagger in his step.
Serenity Falls Page 6