by Kelly, Amber
Dallas
I wake to banging on the door. I sit up and look around. I’m on the couch, still in my dress from last night. I don’t remember coming home. Damn Walker and his shots.
I get up and open the door to Sophie and Charlotte. Soph is all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but Charlotte is wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and looks about as good as I feel.
“Good morning,” Sophie sings as she pushes past me with a bag in hand.
“What’s so good about it?” I ask as I follow them to the kitchen.
“Someone’s grumpy,” Sophie notes as she starts pulling the contents from the bag.
Charlotte raises her hand. “That would be me. I’m grumpy,” she groans as she sits down on one of the stools.
I laugh as I take her in. “You too, huh? Need a little hair of the dog?” I question.
“Whatcha got?” she asks as she removes the glasses and grabs one of the muffins Sophie has arranged on a plate.
“I can whip up some Bloody Marys,” I offer.
“Sold, bartender,” she agrees as she takes a bite.
I start a pot of coffee and then head to the liquor cabinet to grab the vodka and Bloody Mary supplies and proceed to make our hangover cures.
“Did you have fun last night?” I ask Charlotte as I top her glass with a celery stalk and slide it in front of her.
“If the pounding in my head is any indication, I would say, yes, yes I did,” she admits as she takes a huge gulp from the glass.
“I have a bit of a headache myself. This is what happens when Walker wants to win. He keeps buying shots until we see two cue balls on the table instead of one. Getting me plastered is the only way he can beat me, and he knows it,” I complain.
“He didn’t force you to drink them,” Sophie butts in.
“You hush. The only reason you aren’t in the same boat we are is because Braxton threatened to hurt him if he brought one more drink to you,” I whine.
“He knew we had a lot to do today, and he didn’t want me to be suffering.”
“How thoughtful of him,” I say snarkily as I shake two ibuprofen into my hand and offer the bottle to Charlotte. “What’s on the agenda anyway?” I ask.
“Once we finish here and you pull yourself together, we’re going to Aurora to shop for engagement party dresses. Then, we’re going to go sample cake flavors at your mom’s bakery this afternoon,” she says excitedly.
My mother is a master of cake decorating. She can make anything you want. I would put her up against any of those fancy bakers on the TV; plus, hers actually taste amazing as well.
“Braxton doesn’t want to help pick the cake?” I ask.
Sophie gives me the are you kidding me look.
“Right. Never mind,” I say as I finish my drink.
“Just let me call Payne and check on Beau and ask if he can bring him to the bakery later. Then, I’ll go wash my face and put on real clothes, and we can go.”
I grab my phone from my purse.
There’s a text from Myer. He has my keys. I send him a message back that the girls are here to pick me up. He offers to swing by and bring them to me, but I have spare house keys upstairs, so he’s just going to go by the bar with Payne, pick up my truck, and drop it off at the house later.
After I pull myself together, the three of us pile into Braxton’s truck and head to Aurora. I called Payne and he said Beau wanted to stay and help him on the farm this morning, which was perfect, so he’s going to bring him to me at Momma’s bakery later.
“All right, spill,” I command Charlotte as I stare her down in the backseat.
“Spill what?” she asks innocently.
“Did you go home with Walker last night?” I ask.
“I did not,” she answers.
“Really? I thought he was in there for sure,” I say, crestfallen.
“He’s fun. We stayed at the bar a little longer. Drank a little more. Then, Silas’s wife picked us up and took him home and then dropped me off at Rustic Peak,” she informs.
“I bet he was disappointed,” I muse.
“I don’t think so. He didn’t seem all that interested,” she says with a shrug.
“What? Walker not interested in taking a girl home for the night? That’s not possible,” I say in disbelief.
“He didn’t make his move, so I just assumed he wasn’t.”
“That’s odd,” Sophie agrees.
“What about you? Anything juicy to share?” Charlotte wags her eyebrows at me in the rearview mirror.
“No. I didn’t even remember how I got home last night,” I admit.
“Myer took you,” Sophie says.
“Yes, I know. He had to fill me in this morning.”
“What’s his story anyway?” Charlotte asks.
“Myer?”
She nods and expectantly looks at me.
“His family’s ranch, Stoney Ridge, backs up to our orchard. He and my brother, Payne, have been friends since they could walk. They spent the better part of my childhood torturing me in some capacity or another,” I start the tale.
“Dallas and I both crushed on him hard when we were little. We’d follow him and Payne around like puppies. Drove them crazy. Then, when we were about eight years old, we were in the barn at Dallas’s house, playing a cutthroat game of Spin the Bottle with a bunch of kids from school, and Myer’s spin landed on Dallas. She kissed him for a whole minute. Broke my heart,” Sophie says, reminiscing as she places her hand over her wounded heart.
“Yeah, I remember. It wasn’t a whole minute. I was eight, and he was ten. It was an awkward peck on the lips that lasted two seconds, tops. Then, you wouldn’t speak to me for an entire week. Like I’d used some sort of telepathic power to cause the bottle to land on me,” I say as I roll my eyes at the memory.
She sticks her tongue out at me.
“Anyway,” I continue, “in middle school, he started playing football and was damn good at it. Coaches, girls, and practically the whole damn town started fawning all over him. He kind of got himself a big head and then a hot girlfriend. So cliché—the quarterback and the head cheerleader. Meanwhile, I was going through my awkward phase.”
I lift my hand and start ticking the list off on my fingers. “I was short and painfully thin, I had braces, you could play connect the dots on my face, I wore Coke-bottle glasses—poor Beau gets his shitty eyesight naturally—and my best friend left me all alone to face puberty.”
I end my rundown by giving Sophie the stink eye.
“Needless to say, my crush was unrequited, and I eventually got over it, but I was still a fan. Myer was scouted by every college in the Midwest. He won a scholarship to the University of Colorado Boulder; the cheerleader followed him, and so did Payne. I was left here to finish my senior year, and that’s when Travis rolled into town. He was new, kind of edgy, and a handsome devil. Devil being the operative word. He hadn’t been here for my awkward phase either. I fell head over heels. Married him the second I graduated and moved to Denver.”
Charlotte is listening with rapt fascination. “And …” she asks.
“And?”
“How did you both end up back here, in Poplar Falls?”
“Myer took a hard hit in a bowl game against UCLA his second year. It was illegal contact. UCLA was losing and they wanted to rough him up a bit, and boy did they. Blew his ankle out. It was bad. He had to have surgery, and it required metal rods and pins. He came home to recover and rehab, and when he went back, his agility on the field was never the same. He knew his chances of being drafted were slim, so he returned home to work the ranch. Sans the cheerleader. That disloyal hussy stayed and hitched her wagon to the backup quarterback, from what I heard.”
“Damn, that sucks,” she says.
“Yeah, he doesn’t talk about it much, but I know it had to hurt terribly to lose your dream when you were that close to it coming true.”
“He doesn’t seem that broken up about it though. If you hadn’t told me, I
’d never have guessed that he hadn’t wanted to be a rancher his whole life. He’s great with the horses and cattle,” Sophie adds.
“He is. It’s in his blood, like the rest of us, I guess,” I agree.
“What about you and Beau? What happened there?” Charlotte continues her questioning.
“That’s another tragic tale. My husband ended up a scoundrel who was dabbling in selling illegal drugs that then led to laundering drug money through our auto repair shop, unbeknownst to me. And one day out of the blue, federal agents showed up at my door and proceeded to inform me of all his dirty deeds. They indicted him on too many charges to count and seized everything we owned, but luckily, they didn’t take me down with him—which they could have because my name was on everything. But they had a guy in deep cover, working for Travis, and they knew he was keeping me completely in the dark. He was convicted and sentenced to fifteen years in prison and a half-a-million-dollar fine,” I say.
“Whew, that’s steep,” Charlotte says as her eyes go round.
“Apparently, he had gotten caught up over his head with a pretty big ring that the Feds had been investigating for a while. Travis wasn’t necessarily dangerous, just stupid. So was I. I didn’t see it. I knew he was pulling in money from somewhere, but I just thought he was somehow screwing insurance companies out of crazy amounts of cash when he worked on accident claims. Anyway, he went to prison. I filed for divorce, and then I came home to Momma and Daddy, in debt up to my eyeballs. Then, Beau was born three months later,” I finish my sordid story.
“Do you hear from him at all?” she asks.
“Who? Travis?”
She nods.
“No. He used to write letters and send them to Momma and Daddy’s house, but I didn’t open any of them. Amanda down at the post office knows to mark anything coming from the Fremont Correctional Facility as Undeliverable and Return to Sender now.
“I don’t want him to have any part in our lives. I’ve been trying to get his rights to Beau taken away for years. He’s never even laid eyes on him. You’d think he’d be more than willing to give up any responsibility, but no, his stubborn ass wants to fight it just to piss me off.”
“Wow, that’s … just wow. The most exciting thing that has ever happened to me was when I stumbled into Jason Momoa in Central Park. He was shooting scenes for a movie, and I was going for my morning run,” Charlotte states.
“Um, what about meeting me and, I don’t know, starting a successful, global jewelry empire?” Sophie says, affronted.
“Soph, it was Jason Momoa—aka Khal Drogo or Aquaman,” she says slowly. Then, she looks at me and mouths, So needy.
I giggle.
Sophie stares at her and then relents. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that one.”
“So, now, both you and Myer are back in Poplar Falls, and you guys are, what?” Charlotte asks.
I look up at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
“You said last night that you guys were just friends, but you’re, like, friends with benefits or something, right?”
“No, we’re just friends, no benefits. Unless you count driving my drunk ass home all the time a benefit. Which it kinda is for me,” I answer.
“Wait, I’m confused. He bought your drinks and stayed by your side all night, and he took you home,” she points out.
“Yeah, so?”
“You aren’t sleeping together?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” she muses.
“What?”
“Nothing. You’re just awfully possessive of him. I assumed you two had hooked up,” she says with a shrug.
“No, I’m not,” I protest.
“Oookay,” she says.
She and Sophie give each other a look in the rearview mirror.
Whatever. I start playing with the radio in the truck to find us some music to change the subject.
“Hey, Dallas, do you recognize that car behind us?” Sophie asks as she looks in her side mirror.
I turn around and check out the dark blue coupe that’s about five car lengths behind us. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“It’s been behind us since we turned off your road. It keeps speeding up and then falling back, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same one,” she says with a little alarm in her voice.
“That’s strange.”
“Right? What are the odds?” she says nervously.
Aurora is about sixty miles from Poplar Falls, and we’ve been on the road for almost an hour.
“Slow down. If we get a little closer, maybe I can see it better and figure out who it is,” I say as I turn completely around in the seat.
Charlotte scoots to the far right, so I have a clear line of sight.
Sophie lets off the gas, and the distance between us and the other car narrows. I can’t quite see the driver’s face, just that it looks to be a male with a ball cap on.
“I can’t tell. Pull over to the shoulder, and maybe they’ll go around,” I suggest.
She slows down even more and turns her left blinker on. Just then the car makes a sharp turn on a side road that shoots off into the woods.
We come to a stop.
“They bolted off,” I say.
“Do you think they were following us?” she asks.
“It was probably just a coincidence. Are you sure they got behind us near my place?”
She nods her head. “I think so. I mean, it looked like the same car. I guess it could have been another one. I wasn’t paying really close attention until about twenty minutes ago.”
“Yeah, I bet it wasn’t the same car. My guess is, it was probably a local who lives down in those woods,” I say.
We get back on the road and make our way into town.
We stop and park in front of a quaint little boutique.
“Janelle told me about this place,” Sophie says as she parks the truck.
“Janelle? You took shopping advice from Janelle?” I ask her in disbelief.
“Don’t worry; I went online and checked it out. It’s really nice. The owners have a shop in Denver and opened this one last year. I’m sure we’ll be able to find something we like.”
We walk inside, and the place is stunning. Chandeliers hang above the counter, and velvet furniture is sprinkled throughout. Two young salesclerks greet us as we enter and offer us champagne while we shop.
“Fancy,” I quip as I take the glass and start to peruse the racks.
“What about this one?” Sophie asks as she holds up a gorgeous pink slip dress.
“Maybe for you. Pink and red hair, not so much.” I grimace.
“I like these. We can all wear shades of yellow. What do you guys think?” Charlotte asks as she stands in front of a rack of bright spring dresses.
“Oh, I love that one,” Sophie squeals and grabs a pale yellow number.
I shrug. “Okay, matchy-matchy it is. Let’s try them on,” I say as I select a low-cut one in a bold hue.
One of the salesclerks leads us to the back where there is a large, open room with a settee and standing mirrors. She pulls the curtain closed and leaves us to try on our finds.
I undress quickly and pull mine over my head. It’s a perfect fit, but I’m unsure about all the skin showing.
“Um, there’s no way I can wear a bra with this thing. It dips practically to my belly button,” I grumble.
Sophie steps back and assesses me. “True, but, Dallas, it looks amazing on you. You have to get that. You can use fashion tape to hold the girls in.”
I look to Charlotte to see what she thinks.
“What in the hell do you have on?” I ask.
She is standing there, wrapped up like a mummy from her breasts to her thighs. She looks down at herself. “What? My Spanx?” she asks.
“Is that what you call that straitjacket you’re wearing?”
“It’s awesome. It holds in all your jiggly bits,” she explains. She reaches down into her pile of dresses, pulls out a package, and hands it t
o me. “Here, try a pair. It will give you the perfect hourglass figure,” she suggests.
“I don’t think so. I like my jiggly bits to live wild and free,” I say as I try to hand it back to her.
“I’m telling you, Spanx are life. Just try it on and then put the dress back on. You’ll thank me.”
I decide to give in. I pull the dress over my head and set it aside. I open the package, maneuver my way into the openings, and start to pull it up my legs. It takes all of my strength to yank it over my hips. Once it’s pulled up to my navel, I start yelling for Charlotte.
“Help me! I’m stuck,” I call.
I keep tugging, trying to get it up, and my arms are getting tired.
“Oh no,” Charlotte says. “You have it twisted. Hold still, and I’ll get it straightened.”
She starts jerking and rotating the offensive garment and calls Sophie to help.
“Owww,” I cry as I lurch forward when I feel a pinch in my nether regions. “My hoo-ha is trapped in there. Be careful.”
“Hold still,” Charlotte demands.
I look in the mirror over her shoulder, and the three of us look ridiculous.
“There you go,” she says as she finally gets it pulled up under my breasts.
We’re all sweaty and out of breath now.
“What do you think?” Charlotte asks.
“What do I think? I think you’re batshit crazy. It’s like we just wrestled an alligator for fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah, but see how good you look.” She beams.
“I can’t breathe in this damn thing, and forget about eating, drinking or dancing. My stomach is in a vise grip,” I complain.
“You mountain girls are soft,” she says with a frown.
“Jeez, how do I get out of this thing?” I ask as I start tugging it down.
“I’ll help,” Charlotte says as she rolls her eyes.
I lift my hand to stop her. “No. Go ask that salesgirl for scissors,” I command as I continue to paw at the offensive garment.
“The things we do for fashion. Wait till you see the shoes I picked out,” Sophie says before bursting out laughing.