Save The Date

by K. S. Thomas

I found Pattie instead.

  “Hey Pattie. I don’t suppose there’s a spare pair of boots lying around in some closet somewhere? Something around a size eight maybe?”

  Pattie smiled. “Follow me.”

  So I did. All the way back toward Poppy’s study and up the final set of stairs up to the third floor. I couldn’t remember ever actually having been up there before. Pattie stopped at the second door in the hall and went inside. The room was a fairly decent size with three windows lining the main wall. It was nice, although extremely dated and decked out in all things horse.

  “Whose room is this?”

  “This was your mama’s room. You ain’t never been up here?”

  I shook my head. “No. Are you sure this was her room?” It looked nothing like her. Not a single thing in this room reflected my mother in any way. At least not, the version of her that I knew.

  Pattie just chuckled and went on to the closet in the corner of the room. I half expected a cluster of moths to come flying out when she opened the doors, or bats even. However, neither was the case. Instead, Pattie retrieved a pair of old cowboy boots and handed them over to me.

  “These ought to fit.” She gave my elbow a light squeeze as she went by me, leaving me behind in a room that was almost starting to give me the creeps.

  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it had the distinct feeling of someone or something having died in it and a part of me suspected it was in some way related to the reason my mother had rarely ever spoken of her family for as long as I could remember.

  Not surprisingly, the boots fit damn near perfectly. Much like most of my mother’s shoes which had mysteriously found their way into my closet over the years.

  I walked through the large house and out the front door without running into a single soul. I’d probably have to get used to that while I was there. Once outside, there seemed to be a great deal more life around, although, it was predominantly four legged and covered in fur. But I didn’t mind. Company was all the same to me.

  While Bubba and Spot quickly got distracted and ran off into one of the surrounding pastures, Reesie remained glued to my side and accompanied me all the way down to the main stables.

  It was quiet when I walked in. Aside from the random snort or shuffle of hooves as they moved through the thick layers of straw and saw dust, there wasn’t much else to be heard. Tentatively, I moved along the stalls, peering in on every horse I passed in search of babies, but there were none to be found.

  Disappointed, I was about to turn back and move on to the next barn when I heard a voice from behind.

  “Excuse me. Can I help you?”

  Slightly startled by the deep and raspy tone of the man’s voice, I spun around. The light from the sun was shining in through the open doors behind him, making it impossible to get a good look at the man’s face. His body however was another story. Between the sun’s bright rays and the dark shadows of the barn aisle, he was outlined perfectly. And I do mean, perfectly. Between his broad shoulders, muscular arms and lean but solid chest, it didn’t much matter what his face looked like.

  “It’s fine,” I finally said after an awkwardly long silence. “I mean, I’m fine. Skeeter and Troy are my grandparents.”

  The guy took several more steps in my direction. Suddenly the light adjusted and I could see his face. It had aged some. His hair had turned from its rusty brown to a dark chestnut. It was longer and shaggier and accompanied by a day’s worth of matching stubble along his jawline and chin. The only remnants of the boy he’d been were left in the fiery sparkle of trouble still blazing in his brown eyes. Emerson.

  “Holy shit. Lissy?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. But no one’s called me that in years.”

  “Wow. I mean, damn.” He was shaking his head, still looking me up and down as he walked over, and I could feel the heat rising through my cheeks straight out of the top of my head. “You probably don’t remember me, but I came up to the lake house with your cousin Spencer one year.”

  “I know who you are, Emerson.”

  He nodded, a pleasantly surprised look on his face as he came to stop just a few feet in front of me. “You’ve grown up some since the last time I saw you.”

  “Well, I was only six…so yeah. I had some growing up to do.” I crossed one leg in front of the other and folded my arm behind my back, clasping my other arm just so my hand would have something to do. It wasn’t lost on me that as I was declaring my state of adulthood, I was suddenly standing there like my six year old self again. All that was missing were my standard pig tails and a lollipop.

  “I guess so. And I hear you plan weddings now?”

  I teetered back and forth from one foot to the other, keeping up my childish posture and silently berating myself while doing so. “Oh, no. I don’t plan them. I dress them. I’m a designer. I do custom wedding dresses.” A simple ‘I design the dress’ probably would have sufficed, but it was too late now. Meanwhile, I had to suck in my lower lip and bite down on it, just to keep from rambling on any further.

  I didn’t understand what was happening. Sure. Emerson was freaking hot. But, come on! This wasn’t like me. I didn’t come completely undone just from standing face to face with a guy. Even if he did have the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen sitting right there above that perfectly chiseled jaw. Oh God. Don’t smile. Too late.

  “Did you have anything to do with that shirt you’re wearing?” He was still grinning as he lifted his hand to reach for the edge of my sleeves where I had ripped off an impractically flared bit of chiffon earlier. The tips of his fingers grazed my skin as he did so and I had to swallow hard before answering.

  “I might have made a few adjustments here and there. It’s not my best work.” I grinned back at him, desperately hoping he hadn’t noticed the effect he’d had on me. In the meantime, I was still gently swaying back and forth to keep my legs from going numb, or worse yet, giving out on me all together. Holy crap. What was going on?!

  “Well, it still looks good on you, but then I imagine just about anything would.”

  Wait a minute. Was he flirting with me? Before I had a chance to come up with a clever and coy response, he went on, “So, what brings you out here all alone?”

  I shrugged. “I was hoping to see the spring foals. And, I’m not alone. Reesie came with me.” I pointed at the chocolate colored fur ball rolling around in what bore an unfortunate resemblance to horse manure.

  “Oh, so she’s been hanging out with you. I was wondering where she went off to.” He knelt down and Reesie instantly abandoned her enjoyable roll to run over and greet him.

  “She’s your dog?” I don’t know why I was so struck by the news. “So, then you work here? For my Grandparents? You’re a trainer.” There I went again, spitting out chopped up chunks of conversation like a poorly programmed robot.

  “Yeah. Been working here for a few years now,” He stood up, dusting whatever had transferred from Reesie’s coat to his hands off on his pant leg. “Come on. Foals are out this way.” Then, without hesitating, he took my hand and led the way outside.

  I had to take several fast steps in a row to keep up with him as his long legs took wide strides through the barn and then out and around the back to a wide open pasture.

  There they were. At least six or seven little guys. They were adorable with their long gangly legs and bushy mane and tails. A couple of them were running around playfully, but most of them remained glued safely to their mother’s shoulder.

  “This what you were hopin’ for?”

  “Uh-huh.” I just stood there, staring out at them and bursting with a new sense of delight. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Anything else you want to see? I could give you a whole tour if you’d like.” Emerson had both arms resting on the wooden slats of the fence and was comfortably leaning into them.

  I was about to respond, when my stomach interrupted me with a loud howl. Mortified, I grabbed my belly button as if I could silence the beast
within by doing so.

  “We should probably start with the kitchen.” He laughed as he took my hand again, tugging me along as if I was still the same little six year old from that summer at Lake Kentucky.

  When we got up to the house, Emerson walked in without even knocking. I couldn’t help but think about how weird it was that he felt more at home at my grandparents’ house than I did. I probably would have rang the doorbell and then waited for someone to answer.

  But he just kept walking, straight through the foyer and the formal dining room to the back where the kitchen was. He was about to push the swinging door open when he caught a glimpse of Pattie moving through on the other side through the long narrow window neatly placed in the center of the door.

  Instinctively he leaned back and reached his arm across my midsection, gently pressing me against the wall and out of sight. He lifted his finger to his lips to signal me to keep quiet and I did. I was starting to think they had some weird fucking habits around here, but I enjoyed being in such close proximity to him way too much to question it.

  After a moment, he lowered his arm, flashed me a broad smile and headed into the kitchen.

  “So…was that like a southern thing? Or are you actually an escaped mental patient who just thinks he works here but in reality will get hauled off in a straitjacket on sight?”

  He chuckled. “It’s a Pattie thing. She’s very possessive of her kitchen. If she knew you were hungry, she’d pull out all the stops and you’d be sittin’ here for the next three hours having food shoved in your face.”

  He reached for both handles on the double door fridge and pulled. The thing was huge, much like everything else around here, and filled with more food than my fridge had ever seen in the three years I’d owned it.

  “I don’t see where having food coming at me for several hours is a bad thing. You heard my stomach. It’s been a while…”

  Emerson somehow managed to retrieve several items without disturbing the rest of the contents. I watched as he set them all down on the butcher block island at the center of the room.

  “It wouldn’t be a bad thing, just not a convenient thing.”

  I went over to one of the bar stools and had a seat on it. “What would be so inconvenient about it?”

  He was just in the middle of throwing together a combination of meats and cheeses on two slices of fresh whole wheat bread when he looked up. That same flash of playfulness flared up in his eyes. “The part where you’d be stuck in here, while I’d be out there thinking of all the more fun things we could be doing.” He placed both halves of the sandwich together and held it out to me. “Here. This ought to hold you over until supper.”

  “Thanks.” I stared at the collection of deli products smashed between the bread, completely dumbstruck by what was happening. Aside from the fact that I’d never seen a sandwich quite like this one, I couldn’t recall a single time any guy had ever made me one. The most I’d ever seen a man do in the kitchen on my behalf was start the coffee maker, and generally that had been motivated by selfish reasons.

  Emerson finished cleaning up after himself and came back to stand in front of me. “You going to eat that or just stare at it all day?”

  “It’s so big, I don’t think I can fit it in my mouth.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. About my sandwiches.” His lower lip was twitching as he fought back a smirk.

  “Oh my God, Emerson! Innocent ears over here.”

  He just grinned, placed both hands outside of mine and pressed them together, flattening out the sandwich in the process. “There, should be able to fit it now.” He winked at me and went to lead the way back out of the kitchen, hooking one finger into my belt loop as he went by and dragging me along while I giggled like a little girl.

  God, she’s gorgeous. Wait. Am I allowed to think that? This is little Lissy Luvalle. Little Lissy with the pig tails and the big brown eyes that made you say yes no matter what the question was. Well, she sure as hell isn’t wearing any pigtails now. But damn. She still has those eyes.

  Chapter 4

  I devoured my late lunch in a matter of minutes. By the time Emerson came to a stop, I was just wiping the last crumbs off my hands.

  “So, where are we and what are we doing?” I was looking around, a little nervous at the sight of our destination. From the looks of it, Emerson had dragged me out to an old shed. Inevitably the escaped mental patient theory made a reappearance. Thankfully, Reesie had followed along and I was counting on her to have my back. Even if she was technically his dog.

  “You’ll see.” He really wasn’t helping matters any. Emerson opened the rickety old door and went inside, disappearing in the darkness. A moment later, he emerged. Two fishing poles in one hand and a tackle box in the other. He nodded to the left. “Come on. Water’s this way.”

  He was several feet ahead of me already, when I jumped into motion as well. “Wait. What water?”

  Instead of answering, Emerson just gave a forward wave, reiterating the fact that he wanted me to simply follow along. And, without questioning it any further, I did. Guess I figured if my mother had thought I was in good hands with him when I was just a child, I’d probably be fairly safe now as well. Not to mention that my grandparents had seen fit to hire him.

  Although halfway through hiking around in some marshy dark woods I began to second guess my mother’s judgment. As well as my grandparents’. I was about to announce that I was heading back out to where I could actually see daylight, when our path cleared and I found myself at the edge of a creek.

  With the warmth of the sun dancing on my skin again, and the quiet babbling of the moving water, it was really quite lovely.

  It was clear that Emerson had been down here plenty of times before from the way several logs had been positioned to provide a nice little seating area. Immediately I wondered who else had sat there with him as I lowered myself down onto the log beside him.

  He rummaged around in his tackle box for a second and then held out a jar in my direction. It was filled with worms and I recoiled at the sight.

  “Oh no. That is so not happening.” I held out my hand, trying to force the jar away without having to actually touch it.

  “I know you know how to hook your own worm, Liss. I know, because I remember teaching you how to do it.” Before I could stop him, he grabbed my outstretched hand, turned it over and placed a squiggly pink worm in my palm.

  For a moment I thought the sandwich I’d eaten in such a haste would come back up just as fast as it had gone down.

  “You’re really making me do this? I thought you said we were going to have fun.” I made a face, still holding my hand out away from my body as if the little worm might jump up and attack me with its grossness.

  Emerson smirked as he stood up, his rod ready to go. “I am having fun.”

  “Yeah, I bet you are,” I grumbled as I grabbed my fishing pole and threaded the line in my fingers until I found the hook. Then, after lining it up with my worm, I closed my eyes and did the thing I was dreading most. Surprisingly enough, baiting your hook was very much like riding a bike. Once you began the motions of it all, everything came right back and I opened my eyes to find my poor worm perfectly pierced and ready to go as if I’d been doing it every day since Emerson first taught me seventeen years ago.

  Feeling quite impressed with myself, I came to my feet and looked up. Emerson was staring at me, a peculiar expression on his face.

  “What?” I placed my free hand on my hip defiantly. No way was he going to knock my baiting efforts. Not after I didn’t even want to do it in the first place.

  “Relax, firecracker.” He reached out and hooked my belt loop again to pull me over beside him. “You squeezed your eyes shut like that when you were six, too, you know that? You don’t crinkle your nose anymore, but your aim has improved considerably.”

  “I didn’t used to crinkle my nose!” My mind instantly conjured up images of flared nostrils and a variety of unattracti
ve expressions I’d rather hadn’t seared themselves into Emerson’s memory for all eternity.

  “Sure you did. Spence and I would sit there watching you bait your hook with your eyes closed and wait for it. Right as you pressed the worm into the point, you’d crinkle that little nose. Happened every time, without fail. It was adorable. Kind of bummed you dropped it from the routine.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was making fun of me or flirting again. Although, the fact that he kept comparing me to my six year old self was more than a bit disheartening. Maybe some part of him would always see me that way.

  Why do you care?! Why indeed. Sure, Emerson was annoyingly attractive, even if he wasn’t remotely like any of the guys I’d dated in the past. But, did his hotness have to translate into anything more than a simple attraction? Did I want it to?

  I finally cast my line and then settled in and waited for the fish to bite. More than once I caught myself trying to peer up at him out of the corner of my eye, which led to silent cursing over the fact that I hadn’t thought to put on my sunglasses prior to leaving the house. Not that it was all that bright, but they certainly would have aided me in trying to gawk at the man standing two feet away without him noticing.

  As it was, I limited myself to glances below the waist which could easily have been mistaken for interest in the flowing water or the random wildlife that scurried around the banks along the river.

  The view wasn’t too shabby. For starters, Emerson had hands and arms that made you want to be gripped tightly by them. And not in the friendly, he gives good hugs sort of way, but in the throw me up against a wall and maul me kind of way.

  They were strong, working hands which gave the distinct impression of knowing what they were doing, no matter what they were doing. In spite of the near perfectly tan skin that stretched tightly over his muscled arms with each flick of the wrist as he moved his line in the water, there were small patches on his forearms and hands. Old scars from doing, well, to be perfectly honest, I could only speculate at this point. What exactly did one do on a farm? Regardless, in my warped and silly mind, scars represented something dangerous, which in turn translated to bravery which naturally brought me back full circle and being pinned up against the wall.