behind. Another day, I promise.” I put the plastic covered
couch between us as fast as I could and waved over my shoulder as I fled my
mother’s house.
I headed down the block
towards Main Street where I’d parked my car. The heart of the town was a two
block stretch of small businesses dressed up all historic for the antique
shopping tourists. Castle Creek had twelve antique stores, four churches, and
five bars which pretty much summed up every rural small town I’d ever been to.
Busy for us was foot traffic into Marcy’s Diner after church on Sundays and the
annual antique fair in June when our population quadrupled for sixteen hours a
year. When McDonalds went in off the highway with the gas stations, you’d have
thought we’d just gone cosmopolitan.
I got as far as opening my
car door when I noticed him across the street loading plywood into his
grandfather’s truck bed. Jason had apparently made the full transition back to
country boy, sun-sweat glistening across his biceps, darkening his t-shirt at
the small of his back. The t-shirt looked too small strained across his
shoulders and my fingers pressed into my palm at the memory of what it felt to
touch the shape of him. His jeans looked faded and soft, worn through in the
right knee and back pocket in the shape of his wallet. His work boots looked
old, but the black cowboy hat looked new. His grandfather’s influence, I was
willing to bet. He even wore a little bit of dark stubble on his usually
baby-smooth cheeks. He looked rough and strong and I was suddenly overwhelmed
by a powerful craving to peel the sweat soaked t-shirt over his head and kiss
him madly.
I shut my door and walked
down the block to the corner before crossing. He had his back to me as he
strapped the wood to the truck.
“Nice hat.”
Jason glanced over his
shoulder and grinned that slow, unfurling smile of his. I ordered the
butterflies in my belly to knock it right off, but they didn’t listen. They
never did.
He gave the ropes one last
tug before giving me his full attention with an appraising once over I could
feel in my toes.
“Grandpa Garton’s subtle way
of reminding me where I’m from. You can about imagine how much he loves my dad
and me living out east, working the stock market instead of the land.” He
deflected the faint bitterness I caught around the edges whenever he mentioned
Garton King with an easy, but shrewd smile. “Still, I look damn good, right?”
“And so modest too.” I stuck
my hands in my back pockets and glanced down between us, feeling both nervous
and embarrassed. “I need a ride home.”
He leaned back against the
truck, propped his boot against the tire, and crossed his arms over his chest.
He nodded down the street.
“If I’m not mistaken, your
car is right over there.”
“In which I just got back
from picking up the wedding dress in Omaha with my mother and sister. I need a ride home.”
“Get in.”
He pushed away from the truck
without further argument and I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. I
clamored up into the cab and slid across the cracked leather. Despite the Kings
owning half the county, Garton King was as down home as a person could get,
unlike his brothers and nephews who flaunted their power and money. He could
have bought himself a fleet of new trucks, but this old blue Dodge still ran
fine and I doubted he’d buy anything new until it refused. The cab smelled like
fresh cut grass.
Jason slid in next to me, put
the truck into gear and pulled off onto Main Street. Once Main Street turned
highway and we were going sixty into farmland, he moved his hand from the gear
shift to my thigh just above my knee. I relaxed for the first time in hours and
concentrated on the heat radiating from his palm.
“So how’d you end up in the
same car as the wedding dress , anyway?” he asked.
“Mom needed someone to drive
her. Bailey’s doing some work in the city and met us but threw a fit over the
idea of leaving the
couch between us as fast as I could and waved over my shoulder as I fled my
mother’s house.
I headed down the block
towards Main Street where I’d parked my car. The heart of the town was a two
block stretch of small businesses dressed up all historic for the antique
shopping tourists. Castle Creek had twelve antique stores, four churches, and
five bars which pretty much summed up every rural small town I’d ever been to.
Busy for us was foot traffic into Marcy’s Diner after church on Sundays and the
annual antique fair in June when our population quadrupled for sixteen hours a
year. When McDonalds went in off the highway with the gas stations, you’d have
thought we’d just gone cosmopolitan.
I got as far as opening my
car door when I noticed him across the street loading plywood into his
grandfather’s truck bed. Jason had apparently made the full transition back to
country boy, sun-sweat glistening across his biceps, darkening his t-shirt at
the small of his back. The t-shirt looked too small strained across his
shoulders and my fingers pressed into my palm at the memory of what it felt to
touch the shape of him. His jeans looked faded and soft, worn through in the
right knee and back pocket in the shape of his wallet. His work boots looked
old, but the black cowboy hat looked new. His grandfather’s influence, I was
willing to bet. He even wore a little bit of dark stubble on his usually
baby-smooth cheeks. He looked rough and strong and I was suddenly overwhelmed
by a powerful craving to peel the sweat soaked t-shirt over his head and kiss
him madly.
I shut my door and walked
down the block to the corner before crossing. He had his back to me as he
strapped the wood to the truck.
“Nice hat.”
Jason glanced over his
shoulder and grinned that slow, unfurling smile of his. I ordered the
butterflies in my belly to knock it right off, but they didn’t listen. They
never did.
He gave the ropes one last
tug before giving me his full attention with an appraising once over I could
feel in my toes.
“Grandpa Garton’s subtle way
of reminding me where I’m from. You can about imagine how much he loves my dad
and me living out east, working the stock market instead of the land.” He
deflected the faint bitterness I caught around the edges whenever he mentioned
Garton King with an easy, but shrewd smile. “Still, I look damn good, right?”
“And so modest too.” I stuck
my hands in my back pockets and glanced down between us, feeling both nervous
and embarrassed. “I need a ride home.”
He leaned back against the
truck, propped his boot against the tire, and crossed his arms over his chest.
He nodded down the street.
“If I’m not mistaken, your
car is right over there.”
“In which I just got back
from picking up the wedding dress in Omaha with my mother and sister. I need a ride home.”
“Get in.”
He pushed away from the truck
without further argument and I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. I
clamored up into the cab and slid across the cracked leather. Despite the Kings
owning half the county, Garton King was as down home as a person could get,
unlike his brothers and nephews who flaunted their power and money. He could
have bought himself a fleet of new trucks, but this old blue Dodge still ran
fine and I doubted he’d buy anything new until it refused. The cab smelled like
fresh cut grass.
Jason slid in next to me, put
the truck into gear and pulled off onto Main Street. Once Main Street turned
highway and we were going sixty into farmland, he moved his hand from the gear
shift to my thigh just above my knee. I relaxed for the first time in hours and
concentrated on the heat radiating from his palm.
“So how’d you end up in the
same car as the wedding dress , anyway?” he asked.
“Mom needed someone to drive
her. Bailey’s doing some work in the city and met us but threw a fit over the
idea of leaving the
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