by D. R. Graham
Fortunately, Hemingway hops out of the water effortlessly, and once Tracy sees that I’m fine, she continues on ahead and disappears over the ridge. Twenty minutes later, we clear the summit and I can see the men working on the fence. Four men, all shirtless, glistening with sweat in the hot sun. Easton has a red bandana tied across his forehead and the ends of his hair dance in the breeze like a horse’s tail. He swings a sledgehammer-y thing over his head and drives the fence post deeper into the ground, causing the muscles in his chest, abs, and arms to simultaneously flex into an awe-inspiring geometric tapestry.
“Oh my.”
Tracy glances at me and chuckles.
Wait. Did I say that out loud? I meant to say it in my head. Oh my is exactly the right sentiment, though. Mmm. Mo’ Havie. Who wouldn’t want to see more of that? I totally get the nickname now. Easton glances over at us and wipes the sweat from his eyes with his forearm. He frowns when he recognizes Tracy, then half-smiles with a perplexed curiosity when he realizes I’m the person on the horse next to her.
He clicks his tongue, then calls, “Hemi.” Hemingway trots eagerly towards Easton, bouncing me along with him. Easton climbs up on the stack of fence posts to make himself the same height as me, then kisses me on the cheek. “You found my mom’s hat?”
“Your dad lent it to me.” I study his face to see if he’s uncomfortable that I borrowed it, but it seems like he hasn’t yet decided how he feels about it. “Do you mind?”
He smiles and tugs the brim down lower. “Not at all. It looks nice on you.” His eyes glance sideways over at Tracy. “You found a new buddy to hang out with?”
“I wouldn’t say we’re buddies. She wanted to share some legal information with you about the gold-digging trespassers. It was your dad’s idea to make me tag along.”
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.” I point at his chiselled physique and lift my eyebrows. “The view was worth the ride.”
Easton smiles and shoots me a swoony model-worthy wink. After introducing me to his staff and telling them to take a break, he talks to Tracy for about ten minutes. I stay on Hemingway and let him rest under the shade of a tree because I’m not one hundred percent sure I’d be able to get back on him again if I got off.
Tracy hands Easton the papers that her brother gave her and then he walks back over to me and pats Hemingway’s shoulder. “I’m looking forward to our picnic later.”
“Me too.” I point at the papers. “Anything important in that?”
“Possibly. I’ll call the lawyer on Monday.”
I lean forward onto Hemingway’s neck to give Easton a kiss. “You do realize that for the rest of my life I’m going to have very pleasant dreams about you mending fences without a shirt on.”
“Good.” He smacks Hemingway’s butt. “Now, get out of here so I can actually concentrate on my work and get home in time for our date.”
Hemingway is already trotting to meet Hobelia and Tracy up the trail, so I just give Easton a thumbs up over my head and keep going. Once we catch up to Hobelia, Hemingway slows to a walk, with no instruction from me whatsoever.
Tracy says, “You guys make a nice couple.”
I glance over to check her expression, not sure if she’s being facetious. It seems like she genuinely means it. “Thank you.” We ride for a while and I work up the nerve to say, “I don’t mean to pry, and you don’t need to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but Easton said you were unfaithful to him. I was just curious, if it’s true, why you made that choice?”
She shrugs and stares off at the trail ahead of us for a while as if she’s contemplating whether she wants to share her reasons with me or not. Obviously she wouldn’t want to. Why did I even ask? So inappropriate. Such a dork. Oh well, her opinion of me probably wasn’t very high to begin with.
Just when I’m about to apologize for being nosey, she takes a deep breath and starts to speak, “When Easton went to Stanford, I didn’t have a job or even any idea of what I wanted to do for a living. He has always been so driven. I imagined him at college, meeting a bunch of really smart Southern Cal. girls who all had ambition and money and were throwing themselves at him at fraternity parties. I mean he was a hot model and rodeo stud. I was in a bad place emotionally. I felt stuck here, small-town, nothing to offer him once he graduated. We only saw each other every other weekend and I had convinced myself he was cheating on me, so I made a desperate and stupid decision to boost my self-esteem with a guy we went to high school with. Easton found out, and as soon as I saw the look on his face, I knew for a fact he had never cheated on me and likely never would have. But it was too late. I wrecked us.” She glances over at me. “And it was over for Easton the second he found out. He never looked back.” She shrugs remorsefully and mumbles, “I don’t blame him.”
I nod to the rhythm of Hemingway’s stride as I let it all sink in. I don’t know what to say, but I’m glad she told me. It makes me feel sorry for her. That’s not normal. Right? I have got to be the only person on the planet who can feel sympathy for the cheating ex. First Chuck now Tracy. Yikes. I really hope I never do anything to give Easton the expression she described. It would break my heart if I disappointed him. And it would kill me to be in Tracy’s shoes. Well, literally, I am in her shoes. Figuratively, it would kill me to be the second love of his life to screw up and lose him. Is it a bad omen to borrow an ex’s boots? I hope the universe gets the difference between literal and figurative. Maybe I should have worn my flip flops.
Thankfully, we reach the river, which interrupts my completely ridiculous train of thought. Instead of balking, Hobelia abruptly sprints full-speed past me and Hemingway and lunges into the water. Hobelia loses his footing and throws Tracy head first over his shoulder. She lands on her back in the water and Hobelia leaps up onto the shore. Hemingway, who looks a little stunned, stops in the middle of the river.
Tracy stands up, soaking wet and looks as if she’s going to lose it on Hobelia, but then her expression changes to something I would describe as calm apprehension. “Della. I need you to ride over to Hobelia and get the rifle from my saddle.”
“What?” Rifle. Why? She’s not going to shoot the stupid horse for bucking her off, is she? That’s crazy. I won’t let her. Bizarrely, Hobelia wades back into the water on his own and crosses back to the other side with Hemingway following. “They’re going the wrong way.”
“Della. Grab the rifle. Slowly. There’s a mountain lion.”
Pardon me. Come again. Did she say lion? As in giant carnivore? I don’t want to look. Maybe if I pretend it’s not there, it’s not there. Or, maybe there really isn’t a mountain lion right behind me, and Tracy’s pulling a practical joke to scare the bejeezus out of me. It’s working, by the way. I turn in the saddle to check if she’s laughing at her prank. She’s not. She’s watching the shore behind me intently and the increasingly alarmed look on her face is also working to sell the joke. The horses are both jittery, so I know it’s not a prank. I just don’t want to admit it. Hemingway spins all the way around, and yup, it’s a frickin’ mountain lion.
Holy Hannah. Its paws are the size of my face. My palms instantly saturate with sweat, and my throat pulse pounds ridiculously hard. Crouched on a rock and ready to pounce, the massive, tan cat looks up at my jugular and blinks its yellowish, mascara-like framed eyes as if it’s intrigued by how much delicious human blood is coursing through my veins. Or it can smell my fear, oozing out of every pore in my body. The mountain lion growls somewhere deep in its chest and shows a glimpse of his giant vampire fangs as it eyes Tracy. She’s thigh-deep in the water and can’t even run or play dead if that’s what you’re supposed to do. The horses are antsy and definitely going to bolt if the cat makes a move. Hobelia spins around and bumps his butt against Hemingway’s, so I lean over and reach for the gun. But miss. On the second swipe, I catch the handle and slide it out of the leather case. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“You have to release the safe
ty first,” Tracy says slowly, not taking her eyes off the mountain lion. “Slide the black lever on the side of the handle until you see red. Then aim and pull the trigger. It’s going to kick back, so brace it against your shoulder.”
“I can’t kill it.”
“Just shoot in the air. It should run. If it jumps on me, you have to shoot it, though. And pray you hit it and not me.”
Eek. I close my eyes, aim the rifle in the air, and squeeze the trigger. I forgot to brace it against my shoulder. The kick blows me backwards off Hemingway and into the water.
This is bad.
Chapter 22
Easton
Della hands me the picnic basket with a trembling hand. She’s barely spoken since I got back to the loft. And her face is paler than normal, too. “Everything okay?” I ask as I load a lantern and a blanket into the truck bed.
“Mm hmm.” She nods and then hops into the passenger side.
After sliding behind the wheel, I study her face. She’s definitely off. “We don’t need to go for a picnic if you’re not feeling well. We can stay in and have a quiet night instead.”
“I want to go.”
Okay. Doesn’t seem like it, but I’m not going to argue with her about it. I reverse the truck and then turn onto the dirt road that cuts through our property and leads to a good spot to watch the sunset.
“How did your conference call go?”
“Fine. Inefficient. Group work. You know how it is. Too many cooks in the kitchen and nothing actually getting done.” She runs her palms over her thighs to straighten her cotton skirt. “Two people didn’t even call in, so we have to meet again Monday evening. How about you? Did you get the fence repair finished?”
“Yup. Tomorrow we’ll be inseminating heifers if you want to help?”
“Did you bring a rifle?” she asks randomly, missing my insemination invitation.
“Yeah, why?”
She stares out the side window at the scenery to avoid making eye contact with me. “No reason. Just wondering. Actually, there is a reason.”
“What’s going on, Della? You’re acting weird. But not your normal weird. Did something happen when you were out with Tracy today?” Her head rotates to look at me and her eyes start to water, so I stop the truck and turn the engine off. “Spit it out.”
Her cheeks turn scarlet and her breath hitches in her throat. “Okay, don’t be mad. I need to tell you something. If possible, I’d like you to pretend as if it’s no big deal, even though it was a big deal. Huge deal. I actually wish it was some bizarre bad dream that didn’t really happen, but it did, so here goes. Brace yourself. Like ripping a bandage off, I’m just going to say it. Go. Okay. On our way back, Tracy and I encountered a mountain lion.” She holds two hooked fingers up and hisses to imitate the teeth of a mountain lion. “Like a big, healthy, male one. Ferocious. Yellow eyes. Smelly, too. Hobelia spooked and threw Tracy, so I had to grab the rifle from her saddle, but I don’t know how to fire a gun. I panicked, and she had to talk me through the steps of how to release the safety. I didn’t want to shoot the cat, but Tracy was worried it was going to pounce on her, so I fired. Just a warning shot. In the air. But it was loud, which made Hemingway freak out, and I forgot to brace for the kick, so I fell off, and fortunately I landed in the water, but unfortunately it still hurt a lot because my hip hit a rock and it’s bruised, badly.” She waves her hand in a circular motion from her ribs to her thigh to indicate the size of the bruise. “And your mom’s hat got wet, which I feel horrible about, but it’s drying out nicely. Fingers crossed. And I have a wicked headache, so I probably got whiplash, or maybe the throbbing pain is from the stress-vice digging into my temples from knowing I had no choice but to tell you at some point. To make it worse, the gun somehow went off again when I hit the ground and I have no idea where that bullet went. Thank God it didn’t kill Tracy or one of the horses. It might have killed something. Not the lion. Tracy said it headed for the hills, but she was worried it would come back for a calf, which is why she insisted I tell you. During the chaos, Hobelia took off in a sprint, so he made it back to the barn before we did. He might be scarred for life. Me too. We all survived, though, so that’s a good thing.” She pauses and shakes out her arms as if it somehow removes the post-traumatic stress from her body, then she continues talking, “And since I’m already divulging secrets, I might as well come clean about a few other things, like the fact that Tracy and I talked about the reasons why she cheated on you. Not that I should have pried into your private life, but she shared the details, and now I feel sorry for her because I can empathize with how devastating it must be to live with the regret of ruining the chance to be with someone as amazing as you. Sorry if you don’t like the idea of us talking, but since we are now also bonded over the lion incident, cordial feelings would have likely developed between us anyway. And even though you would have likely never found this out because he made me pinky swear not to tell you, I fed your dad carbohydrates in the form of pancakes. And he loved them. And lastly, I’m teaching Taylor to be a good lover.” She inhales and then lets the air out slowly. “Okay. Phew. I feel better.”
I blink several times to let my brain catch up. “Teaching Chuckie how?”
“Really? That’s the one that bothered you the most?”
I nod. “The mountain lion was likely more afraid of you than you were of him. Falling off a horse is a rite of passage for beginners. The water broke your fall, luckily. Cowboy hats get wet and dirty, that’s what they’re designed for. As soon as I saw you and Tracy together I knew you were going to end up knowing more about what happened than I do. And Dad cheats on his diet all the time. But if Chuck lays one finger on you, I’ll have to break both his arms. So, yeah, that’s the one that bothers me the most.”
At first, Della’s eyes widen in disbelief at my questionable priorities, but slowly a smile creeps onto her lips and eventually reaches her eyes, making them sparkle with amusement. “You’re jealous.”
I turn the engine back on and continue driving. “Call it whatever you want. There’s not a guy alive who would be okay with his girlfriend teaching some other guy how to be a good lover.”
She shoves my shoulder playfully. “It’s not hands-on instructions. Janine said he was mediocre in bed, at best, so I sent him all the articles that I read when I was preparing myself for our first time. They were very informative. Might as well share the wealth of knowledge since I already did all the research, don’t you think?”
“No. Don’t waste your time on him. He’s a lost cause.”
She pokes my thigh and laughs. “You’re jealous. It’s cute.”
I back the truck in and park at the top of the ridge, then get out to open the door for her. She wraps her arms around my neck and lets her body slide slowly down mine until her feet hit the ground.
“Don’t worry, Havie. No matter how much Chuckie studies, he will never be as good of a lover as you because he only cares about himself. And he doesn’t have the biggest rig.”
I smile and kiss her forehead. “What do you know about the size of his rig?”
“I live with three men who wander around in their boxer briefs all the time. I’m practically an expert.” She skips over to hoist herself up into the truck bed, kicks off her flip flops, sits on her knees, and opens the basket to unload several containers. “You’re in for a treat. Potato salad. Raw veggies. Fried chicken. Your dad showed me how to use the deep fryer, and now that I’m hearing it out loud, he probably volunteered that idea so he would have an excuse to make fried chicken for himself. Presumably it’s not on his cancer-fighting diet.”
I join her and stretch out on the blanket, propped on my elbow. “He bamboozled you.”
She nods and feeds me a carrot stick. “So, how many mountain lions have you encountered in your lifetime?”
I chuckle and steal a piece of chicken before she has a chance to get it on the plate. “None. It’s extremely rare to see one.”
Her mouth drops op
en. “You stinker.” She slaps my arm with a paper serviette. “You acted like battling a mountain lion was no big deal, like it happens all the time, and we were perfectly safe.”
“You literally told me to act like it was no big deal.” I laugh. “I would have shit my pants if I saw one that close up.”
“So, we were in danger?”
I reach over and tickle her waist. “You could have been killed.”
She squeals and squirms. “Ow. Ouch. My ribs. I’m injured, remember?”
“Sorry.” I stop tickling and pull her shirt up to examine the damage. Her skin is reddish-purple and swollen. “That’s definitely going to develop into a respectable black and blue bruise.”
“I can’t believe you made me believe we overreacted like sissies.”
“The fact that it was potentially dangerous and that you overreacted like a sissy aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.”
“That sounds like an asshole-ish type thing Chuckie would say, not an encouraging and supportive thing Easton would say.”
I point at her in feigned shock and fake a gasp. “You swore.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You called me asshole-ish.”
“Nope. You misheard.” She shakes her head from side to side. “Maybe you heard me say apple crisp. Your dad showed me how to make his famous apple crisp for our desert. It’s your favorite, right?”
“Definitely my favorite.” The sun has dipped below the crest of the hills and the explosion of color in the sky tints her skin pink. She’s beautiful. And hilarious. And she went head to head with a big cat. I’m dreading tomorrow when she has to leave. I lean over to kiss her ear, then whisper, “I’m proud of you for scaring off the lion. It took a lot of guts. Like a real cowgirl.”