A Nashville Collection by Rachel Hauck Page A

part of Ricky Holden. The next second we’re rolling around, laughing and giggling, wrestling against each other, each trying to come out on top. Until . . . We slow down. He peers into my eyes.
    â€œRobin.”
    I peer back. “Ricky.”
    Next thing I know, we’re making out like a couple of junior high kids, slobbering all over each other. See, the boy does things to me.
    But when he grabs for my T-shirt, I shove him off and jump to my feet. “No you don’t, Ricky.”
    He falls over on his back, hand on his chest, breathing deep. The rascal knows he can’t get to second base with me.
    â€œYou’re driving me wild.”
    I tug my shirt straight. “You’re doing it to yourself, dude.”
    He rises up on his elbows. “No, you’re doing it to me.”
    He’s impossible. I start for my truck before he wears me down.
    Just beyond the thicket, dust billows, and car tires crunch against the rocks and dead tree limbs. A car door opens then slams shut.
    â€œRicky? Sugar? You here? You left your jacket at my place Saturday night.”
    Through golden ribbons of sunlight, Mary Lu Curtain rounds a clump of blooming honeysuckle.
    Ricky scrambles to his feet. “Mary Lu.” He lets loose with an obviously nervous chuckle. I notice he doesn’t look my way. “How’d you find me?”
    â€œYou said you’d be fishing . . .” She glances at him, then me.
    I motion to Mary Lu. “This is what you had to take care of Saturday night?”
    â€œRobin, he told me you two broke up. Really.” Ricky’s leather jacket, the one I bought for him, dangles from Mary Lu’s fingers.
    â€œGuess we did, Mary Lu.” The hinges of my truck door moan when I jerk it open.
    Mary Lu flicks her wrist. “By the way, you did good the other night, girl. Never knew you could sing.”
    â€œShut up, Mary Lu,” Ricky growls.
    I slam my door with a huff and a puff. Keys. Where are my keys? I look in the ignition, patting my pockets. I can’t find my keys.
    Ricky storms over. “Robin, it ain’t what you think.”
    â€œOh, really? What do I think?”
    He drops his head against the doorframe. “I was upset—”
    My eyes start to burn. “Ricky, find my keys, please.” It galls me to ask, but I’m not hunting around in the weeds while Mary Lu stands by.
    He sighs and wanders off, leaving me to wait and not cry.
    Then he’s back. “Here.” He dangles my keys in front of my face. “I ran into her at Dottie’s after I left your place.”
    â€œDottie’s? What did you have to take care of at Dottie’s on a Saturday night? You’re such a liar, Rick.”
    Cranking the engine, I shift into gear. “You know—” What am I doing? There’s nothing more to say. “See you, Ricky.” I pop the clutch and careen over the meadow toward the highway.

6
    Tuesday morning, my Willaby’s uniforms aren’t on the floor where I left them, crumpled and wrinkled, so I go searching.
    In the kitchen, Momma’s sitting at the table drinking coffee.
    â€œMorning, Momma. You’re up early.” I shove open the laundry-room door to find my uniforms washed and pressed, hanging from a dowel rod.
    â€œCouldn’t sleep,” she says.
    â€œYou didn’t have to wash my uniforms, Momma. I’ve gone to work wrinkled before.”
    She raises her mug to her lips. “So I’ve heard.”
    Good grief. Town gossips at it again. They could drive a mad woman mad. I duck behind the laundry room door and change.
    When I come out, Momma says, “Coffee’s ready if you want.”
    I smile. It’s killing her not to pour me a cup. “Smells good.” Flopping my robe over the back of a chair, I twist my wet hair up with a scrunchy.
    â€œI can make eggs.” Momma motions to the black iron skillet on the stove top.
    â€œThanks, but I’ll