Authors: Rebecca H Jamison
Before he knew it, they were barreling down the highway toward town.
Mercedes drove a little, white SUV—the kind that was barely big enough to be
considered an SUV. He had feared she might be like his last girlfriend, who had
one of those little air fresheners hanging from her rearview mirror, but luckily,
all he could smell in Mercedes’s car was the vanilla fragrance she wore.
“I would’ve loved to go to the movie with you,” she said, glancing his
way. “It’s just that Janessa’s been having a rough time since Rosie mentioned
the accident in her class. Now everyone’s gossiping about it again. It doesn’t
help that she still drives herself home from the bar.”
Destry shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “Maybe it’ll turn out to be
good for her. It sounds like she needs to make some changes.” He couldn’t help
wondering whether the same people who gossiped would volunteer to give her
rides when she needed them.
“People don’t change. Believe me, I spent five years of my life trying
to turn my ex into a respectable human being, and you know what?” Mercedes’s
voice grew louder, as if her ex could hear her outburst. “He still burps
without saying ‘excuse me.’”
Destry waited until he was sure she had finished ranting. “I agree that
we can’t force someone to change, but they can change themselves if they want
to. I’m not at all the same guy I was in high school.”
Mercedes swatted at his arm. “You aren’t fooling me, Destry. I can tell
you’ve always had high goals.”
He couldn’t help remembering a similar conversation with Rosie when
they discussed whether people could really change their natures. What had
started out as a disagreement ended in agreement. With Mercedes, things were
going just the opposite. There was so much he still wanted to know about Rosie’s
opinions, her past, her taste, her habits. She clung to his thoughts, a series
of unfinished equations he would never solve.
Mercedes turned off Main Street to a lane where newer homes mingled
with older ones. Cars lined both sides of the street. Mercedes pointed to a
large home with a brick and stucco exterior. “That’s where we’re going.”
“Whose house is that?” Destry asked, figuring Janessa couldn’t afford a
house like this by waiting tables.
“Phil’s. Janessa lives with her parents.”
Destry suddenly needed a very large glass of water. He’d have to be on
his best behavior.
Mercedes found a spot at the end of the line of cars and opened her
door without waiting for Destry to open it for her.
As he got out of his side, he noticed that smoke carried the smell of
burning wood from the backyard. He hoped it was a marshmallow-roasting kind of
fire.
They padded over the thick, green grass and passed through a rose-covered
arbor that Destry had to duck to get through. On the other side of the gate,
someone had decorated the yard with hay bales, quilts, and white Christmas
lights. Groups of people sat on the bales. Others crowded together on the
patio, holding plates full of food. Three guys sat in deck chairs around a fire
pit. He had talked with the same guys at La Cocina once and hadn’t liked what
they said about women.
“Come get something to eat,” Mercedes said. “I’m sure there’s plenty.”
She led him past the crowd to a buffet table on the patio. It was decorated to
look like something out of a women’s magazine with little chalkboard signs and
napkins tied with ribbons. He walked past the mini bar, in search of a
marshmallow to roast. After eating at Rosie’s, he wasn’t hungry for more.
Instead of marshmallows, he found more expensive faire—stuffed
mushrooms, bacon-wrapped filet mignon, shrimp cocktail, and caramel-topped
cheesecake. He spread a few shrimp out on the large china plate Mercedes handed
him.
She leaned in and whispered. “It’s too bad there aren’t more people.”
He scanned the backyard. There had to be at least thirty guests. “It
looks like a lot of people to me.”
Mercedes took a few stuffed mushrooms for herself and leaned in against
his shoulder to whisper. “Yes, but most of these are her relatives.”
He glanced around at the women who stood nearby. “That explains all the
dark hair.”
“People always think it’s easy for the pretty girls,” she said, still
leaning her head toward his shoulder. “It’s not. The girls always talked behind
Janessa’s back in high school, and her dad expected so much from her. He wanted
her to be a lawyer, but she only lasted one semester at college. I don’t know
what happened.”
He stepped back to give himself a few more inches of personal space. “Nobody
has it easy. That’s the great secret of life. During my junior year of high
school, my father had an accident at work and ended up in a wheelchair. My mom
had to quit her job to take care of him. We weren’t all that well-off to begin
with, and a lot of times during high school, I’d come home to find there wasn’t
any food to eat.”
Mercedes’s eyes widened, and she brought her hand to her mouth. “I
thought—”
“I grew up with money? Everyone thinks that.” He chuckled, shaking his
head. “The truth is I spent the last two years of high school begging food off
my friends’ moms and taking the bus down to the food pantry for groceries. Dad
was constantly in and out of the hospital, and I thought things couldn’t get
any worse. Then one day, we got evicted and had to move into my uncle’s two-bedroom
apartment. There we were, my parents, my brother, and I, all crammed into one
bedroom. That’s when I realized that the only way to make things better was to
go to work. So I did. I started a lawn-care company that summer. When the
weather changed, I shoveled snow and repaired computers. Between those three
jobs, I put myself through college and helped pay my dad’s medical bills.”
Mercedes kept her eyes riveted on him as Janessa emerged from the back
door. “And your parents? Do they still live with your uncle?”
He raised a hand in greeting to Janessa and spoke quickly, trying to
finish before she walked across the patio. “My father’s health improved after
that, and they both went back to work. They’ve got a nice home now.” He turned
to Janessa and called out. “I hope you don’t mind my crashing your party.”
Janessa’s smile surfaced in all its exuberance. “I’m so glad you did.
Load up your plates. There’s plenty more in the kitchen.” Her voice had its
usual casual lilt—as if nothing in the world could bother her. Destry wasn’t
convinced though. To him, her happiness seemed forced.
He piled meat and appetizers onto his plate as his mind went back to
the day he encouraged Rosie to share the story about her grandmother. In
helping Rosie, he had never intended to injure Janessa. The way gossip worked
around here, he imagined Janessa felt as trapped as a veal calf stuck in a
stall for the rest of its life.
Drunk driver
had become her identity.
She had to have another side to her—some special gift that went beyond
serving tables and planning parties. He was about to ask her what she liked to
do when he spied a basketball net at the other end of the yard. “Do you play
basketball?”
Her smile spread. “Sure. You want to play? The ball’s over there by the
hoop. My brothers never put it away.”
He walked over and picked up the ball. “Who wants to play HORSE?” He
sunk a shot about ten feet from the basket.
Janessa took the ball, walked to where he had stood, and made the
basket. Mercedes did the same and missed. Destry took an easier shot the next
time, hoping Mercedes could make that one. She did.
As they chatted, he learned that Janessa loved all sports. She played
football, baseball, basketball, lacrosse, and soccer with her brothers for fun.
He bounce-passed the ball to her. “Are there any marathons or
half-marathons held around here?”
“I wish,” she replied, letting discouragement creep into her voice. “I’d
sign up if there were.” She took a shot and missed.
He caught her rebound and held the ball under his arm, growing serious.
“I can see you organizing a race for Lone Spur. It can’t be much harder than
throwing a big party like this. You could start out simple—a 5K to raise money
for victims of the flood.”
Janessa giggled and shook her head. “No, I just do parties.”
“I could help you advertise,” Mercedes offered, her voice picking up
speed. “We could call it a Fun Run and keep it small for the first year.”
Janessa threw her head back and laughed. “You’re sweet Mercedes, but
event planning isn’t my thing.” Her tone lacked conviction, and Destry could
tell she was considering the idea.
“Next summer,” he said, “when I open my resort, I’ll need someone to
help plan parties like this. I hope you’ll consider applying.”
She glanced sideways at him. “Really?”
“Really,” he said.
For a moment, she hesitated. Then she faced him, smiling. “Thank you. I’ll
plan on it.”
She and Mercedes continued to brainstorm ideas for the Fun Run as they
went back to sit around the crackling fire. He hung back behind them, watching as
the stars broke through the darkness, dotting the sky by the thousands. He
considered all the people he wanted to help—the recovering addicts who would
come to his resort, Janessa, his students, and Alan’s family—it would require
more than he could give. Much more. But he still felt the pull of their needs.
Where was the easy life he had expected to find in the West?
“You could make some flyers like my dad made the other day,” Janessa
said. “You know—the ones about the town hall meeting. They looked really
professional.”
Mercedes sent a quick glance at Destry before she replied, “Sure.”
He knew what Mercedes’s look meant. Mr. Moore was gathering opposition
to the plans for his retreat. It shouldn’t have shocked him, but it did. He got
up and walked to the fence, away from the fire. Had he somehow reached a point
in his life where he’d never succeed again? He had failed last year with his
brother. Then he had to hire someone else to clean up all the damage he caused
to his company. He came here to move on, start over. And now here he was,
failing again.
Mercedes caught up to him, threading her arm through his. “I should
have told you about the flyers.”
“I wish someone had told me how hard it is to succeed at anything in
this town.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded at one thing.” Her gentle tone chased away his
troubled thoughts.
Destry searched her eyes, anxious to see what she might say. “What’s
that?”
“Getting me to want to date again.” Her eyes flicked up toward his, as
if she were testing to see how he would react.
After Rosie’s repeated rejections, he hungered for such open acceptance.
He sent his voice down an octave. “Who have I made you want to date?”
Instead of the flirtatious reply he expected, she averted her eyes. Had
his words wounded her? He remembered hearing that her last boyfriend had left
her for another woman.
He couldn’t resist the urge to rescue. “I’m hoping it’s me,” he
whispered, reaching his hand to her shoulder and pulling her toward him. Darkness
enveloped them as they stood away from the rest of the guests.
She didn’t put up any resistance but wrapped her arms around him and
pulled him in for a kiss before he could think to react. Maybe it was because
he had thought too much about that kiss with Rosie, but it surprised him how
much he had to bend over to reach her lips. He couldn’t help remembering how
Rosie had felt in his arms, her height just right. It was no big deal, though.
Mercedes melded against him, the scent of her lotion wafting around
him. He could get used to the height difference. After a few days, he would
probably stop expecting to feel well-toned muscles in Mercedes’s arms—so much
softer than Rosie’s—and he would grow accustomed to her vanilla-sweet scent.
“So when do you want to start this dating thing?” he asked.
She ran her finger over the top of his lips. “I think we’ve already
started.”
She reached to kiss him again. This time, a light flashed toward them,
and he heard wolf whistles coming from the direction of the fire. He groaned. It
seemed they had already become the latest news for the town gossips. Not that
it bothered him all that much. He didn’t stand a chance with Rosie anyway.
Rosie knew Mr. Moore had been lying on Friday afternoon when he said
something came up and she couldn’t hire his sons to bale her hay this time
around. The memory of his voice flipped a switch inside her head—in one blink,
she went from irritated to irate. Janessa Moore should have faced a
manslaughter charge. Instead, Rosie, who had lost her grandmother, was the one
being punished. How was that justice?
Over the previous month, her grandfather got a citation on his truck
for being a day late on the inspection, and Rosie received sub-par scores on
her mid-term teacher evaluations. On top of that, the butcher, Mr. Moore’s
brother-in-law, raised his rates for processing their beef. Rosie took her
business to the Morristown butcher instead.
Now Mr. Moore was telling her she couldn’t hire his boys to help bale.
With acres of cut and dried alfalfa lying in the fields, she had to get it done
before rain came within the next few days. She would show Mr. Moore that she
could do the baling herself with Grandpa’s rickety, old baler. And she would do
it at no cost to herself.
The fact that Tanner got so many neighbors to help with the work also
took the edge off her anger. She could always count on him to come through for
her. Jade and Alan showed up first thing on Saturday morning. Her mom and Mike
had also driven down to help for the day.
Destry came sauntering in a while later, wearing a T-shirt that hinted
at his well-developed chest muscles. Hardly believing that Tanner had invited
him, Rosie snuck a second glance at that T-shirt, wishing her feelings of
attraction would subside. She’d heard he was dating Mercedes now, and she hoped
that would put an end to the awkward moments between them.
For now, the most important thing was that they had enough workers to
fill the barn with square bales by the end of the afternoon.
Rosie started out driving the tractor with the baler attached while
Jade drove the tractor with the trailer. As she pulled the baler over the dried
alfalfa, Rosie glanced at the men following the trailer on the other side of
the field. Destry and Alan lifted the bales to Tanner, who stood on top of the
trailer, stacking them.
Behind her, the baler let out a monotonous squeak, squeak, squeak,
squeak. After an hour of traveling up and down the rows with no break from the
noise, she stopped the tractor and walked back to inspect the parts.
Seeing her, Tanner came running. “What’s wrong?”
“The squeaking. I’m wondering if it needs some oil.”
Tanner studied the machinery, testing the tightness of the nuts and
bolts. “The belts look okay, and I just put in new lacing pins. I think that’s
just the sound it makes.” He pulled his iPod from his pocket. “You can use this
if it’ll help.”
Rosie gratefully accepted the iPod and hopped back on the tractor. She
stuck the earbuds in her ears and sorted through Tanner’s playlists—love songs,
love songs, and more love songs. Lately, she didn’t mind a romantic song so
much, especially when they made her think of Tanner and how much he sacrificed
for her. The problem was that most of the time her mind drifted back to that
kiss in the cemetery. The one that
didn’t
involve Tanner.
She noticed that one of Tanner’s playlists was titled
Rosie
. Curious,
she clicked on it and resumed driving the tractor.
The first song had an old-time country feel. “You’re the missing piece
of my heart,” the singer crooned, “the sweetest melody in my ears, the drop of
sweet nectar on my tongue.” Rosie knew immediately why she recognized those
words—Tanner had written them in his love letter. For just a moment, she froze,
the realization that he’d lied to her foremost in her mind. He’d stolen those
words that had meant so much to her. She listened to the rest of the song,
wanting to be sure, but by the time it ended she knew he’d plagiarized the
words. She pulled the buds from her ears.
Hay dust clung to her face, and she tried to brush it off as she reconsidered
the implications. Was she blowing this out of proportion? Did it matter that
Tanner had copied the words? Yes. It did matter to her. He had told her
specifically that the words came straight from his heart.
When the men returned from taking their load of hay to the barn, she
asked Alan to bale for her, making an excuse that she needed to lift hay bales
for a while to get some exercise.
Tanner lowered his chin and lifted an eyebrow. “Sweetie, are you sure
you want to lift? Alan’s really strong.” He knew perfectly well she could lift
a seventy-five pound bale—she lifted a few every day in the winter. But he also
knew her back sometimes ached from the accident last year.
She took the work gloves from her pocket and slipped them on. “I’ll
just help with this one load. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Destry, taking the hint, hopped onto the trailer, ready to stack the
bales.
Tanner lifted a bale onto the trailer. Rosie lifted the next one and
spoke to Tanner as Destry walked to the other end of the trailer. “I listened
to the song you quoted in your letter,” she said.
Tanner gave her a blank look. “What?” He picked up another bale as
Rosie gave hers to Destry.
“You know.” She lowered her voice. “You wrote that I’m the missing
piece of your heart and. . . all those other things. You told me you made that
part up, that the words came straight from your heart.”
He gave his bale to Destry and scratched the back of his neck. “All I
meant was that I felt every word I wrote.”
Rosie went back to lift another bale. “But you
didn’t
write it.
You copied it. You should have told me you were quoting a song.” She dropped
the bale onto the trailer and rested a hand on her hip.
“I didn’t know it was that important to you.” He spoke through his
teeth, keeping his voice low to prevent Destry from hearing. “If you ever get
around to writing a letter for
me
, I won’t expect you to be so original.”
Rosie matched his tone. “Well, now that I know I can copy lines from
love songs, it might not be as hard as I thought.”
Tanner shook his head and went back to pick up another bale. “Women!”
She felt angry enough to throw a hundred bales of hay onto the trailer,
but there was only one left in this row. Tanner got to it before she did. He
lifted it onto the trailer, wiped his brow, and said, “I left my water bottle
in the other field. I’ll be back.”
It was obvious he didn’t want to talk—just like he didn’t want to talk
on the day he fought with Destry. They had never had so many arguments before
they got engaged, and his immaturity was starting to show through. Was this how
he was going to be for the rest of their lives, giving her a cold shoulder
every time they fought?
As she followed the trailer to the next row, Rosie caught sight of two
figures approaching from the house—her mother and Mike. They held hands and
walked close, her mother throwing her head back in laughter. Since she had
started dating Mike, Azalea had taken up playing the guitar and writing music
again. She spoke more about the future and less about the past. She’d stopped
refusing desserts and danced to songs that came on the radio.
Her mom had been happy when she first met her other husbands, but Mike
was different. He treated Grandpa with respect, and he bragged about Azalea’s
abilities almost as much as he bragged about his daughters and granddaughters.
“Everything okay?” Destry asked when the trailer stopped.
Rosie snapped her head around to look at him. “Everything’s great,” she
lied, keeping her tone positive.
He crouched down. “You’ve got that faraway look again,” he said, soft
enough to send goose bumps dancing over her arms. “I wish I could get a visa to
wherever it is you go.”
She laughed and turned to pick up another bale but then looked back at
him. “Did you make that up?”
“Did I make what up?”
“The part about getting a visa to wherever I go.”
Destry shrugged. “I didn’t make it up on the spot. I’ve thought it
before about you.” He jumped down from the trailer and lifted a bale up to the
trailer bed. “A bale of hay for your thoughts?”
Rosie wasn’t in the habit of revealing her thoughts, especially to the
one man she couldn’t afford to be close to. Should she break her own rule? She
was mad enough at Tanner that she had to vent to someone. “Technically, it’s
already my hay.”
“Yes, but these things weigh about a hundred pounds each.”
“Seventy-five pounds,” she corrected. “They only feel like a hundred
pounds.”
He bent and picked up another one, grunting. “Okay, seventy-five
pounds. That’s worth some credit, isn’t it? I just lifted 150 pounds for your
thoughts.”
It was so easy to talk to Destry. Comfortable. Safe. She knew he wouldn’t
gossip or share her secrets. Rosie glanced over her shoulder to see her mom and
Mike halfway across the field. “I was just thinking about my mom. She’s had so
many bad experiences, I didn’t think she could ever be happy with a
man—permanently happy, I mean.”
“But you think Mike could be the right one for her?”
Rosie nodded. “He doesn’t set off any of my alarms, and she still loves
him.” She noticed a smudge of grease on the bridge of Destry’s nose, and she
almost reached to wipe it off.
“So you’ve become a believer in true love?” He stopped to scrutinize
her as he spoke.
It was almost as if they were continuing their conversation from the
day he kissed her. “Maybe,” Rosie replied, almost in a whisper. She wished he
would smile at her the way he did that day.
He jumped back on the trailer to stack the bales, and when he spoke
again, the subject had nothing to do with love. “I took your advice and sent a
mass e-mail to the parents about next week’s test. I got five replies. Only one
was complimentary.”
She should have been relieved to talk about something else. Instead the
change of subject reminded her that he was dating Mercedes now. She picked up
two more bales before she came up with a reply. “I know how hard it is, but we
have to remember that our most important job isn’t to please the parents and
administrators.” She had recited these same words to herself countless times. “It’s
to teach these kids—to ignite the fire for learning. You’re a great teacher,
Destry. Just keep it up.”
He crouched to look her in the eyes. “If it weren’t for you, I probably
would have resigned by now. You help me remember why I wanted this job.”
There were the goose bumps again. She wasn’t used to a man treating her
with so much tenderness and sincerity. How she ached for Tanner to be this way.
They stacked ten more bales before Mike and her mom reached the
trailer. “We’ve got lunch all set whenever you’re ready to take a break,”
Azalea said. “Mike’s made us a feast—everything from scratch.”
Rosie grinned, her stomach rumbling at the thought. Mike could cook?
She hoped he really was as amazing as he sounded—especially since she was
starving.
Though she had only been working thirty minutes, sweat drenched her
body, making hay particles stick to her. And a dull ache in her back made her
wish she had paid more attention to the way she had lifted the hay. She would
be sore tomorrow. “That sounds great,” she said, wiping her forehead with her
sleeve. “We’ll be in as soon as we load up the trailer.”
“See you then,” Azalea said, sending her a thumbs up, and turning to
walk back to the house with Mike.
Destry jumped down from the trailer and ran around to the tractor to
tell Jade the good news—they only had one more row until lunch. Rosie sent a
quick text to Tanner, telling him to meet them at the house.
They followed the tractor as Jade drove to the next row, where Rosie
lifted one bale after another up to Destry. Her back hurt, but she told herself
to work through it, to use her legs to lift.
She was bending to pick up her third to last bale when a sharp pain
seized her. It bolted through her lower back, forcing her to stay hunched over,
her hands on her knees, unable to move. Even breathing added to the pain.
“Are you okay?” Destry called, jumping down from the trailer.
But she couldn’t answer. Every movement spiked the pain, sending it
throbbing through her hips and legs.