Chapter 12
MABEL SABLE, PART-TIME CUPID
“You sure you’re all right?” Mabel asks as she hands me a cup of spiked tea.
We’re tucked in near the fire tonight after a nice dinner of her famous barbecued chicken and green bean casserole.
She enticed me with a nightcap and while I’m exhausted and itching for a shower, a little booze to take the edge off my mind did sound nice.
“Yeah,” I assure her, catching a yawn before taking the last sip of chamomile and vermouth.
“I’m just beat. All this Texas sun is wearing me out,” I admit, because that much is true.
And lately, I’ve been helping a little here and there.
Nothing big, nothing to move the needle, especially because I’m virtually a waste in a farm setting, but when Landry asks, I jump in.
The main thing tuckering me out is the decision weighing on my mind.
“How’s Landry doin’ now that you’ve been here a while?” Mabel asks, almost as if she suspects he’s on my mind.
I lift one bare shoulder, still smudged with dirt from falling in the mud with Sadie in the stables earlier.
“Good.” I shake my head, though, because is that truly what I think?
My mind veers to that large stack of overdue, unpaid bills on the table, the way I catch him pulling at his neck when he’s alone, and when I’m going through footage, I’ve noticed the stress in his shoulders and the moments of pause where he braces his hands on his waist and blinks up at that farmhouse from deep in the pasture.
He’s stressed, and worried, and who knows what else.
“I mean, he’s got a lot on his mind,” I add, then tack on, “I think, at least.”
“Sure, sure he does,” Mabel says, her cup clinking against the saucer as she replaces it.
“Hey, why did you tell him I was out late the other night?” I sit up and smack her knee playfully, enjoying the little smug grin she gets.
“He asked about where you were, didn’t he?” she grins.
I shake my head. “No. He asked who I was out with.”
“And did you tell him you were just sittin’ out there on the porch?”
I smack her leg again. “You knew I was out there! And you made it seem like I was with someone!” I shake my head, the vermouth softening the worry I’d been unconsciously carrying. “You bad girl.”
“And did you correct him?” she pokes me.
I shake my head, chin held high. “No, ma’am, I did not.”
“So I am right,” she says.
“Right, how?”
“Right that you and him have something happening between the two of ya.” She folds her arms over her chest as if the matter is completely settled.
“No,” I argue, “we don’t.”
“You came here for him,” she says, and I shake my head. “I came here for the film.”
“He is the film,” she counters, which is true.
“I don’t have feelings for him,” I say. “I don’t know him well enough.”
Mabel just smiles, gets to her feet, and takes my cup and saucer. “Sleep well tonight and don’t forget, if you toss those in the hamper, I’ll wash ’em for you,” she says, nodding to my overalls that are so filthy they’d probably stand up on their own.
I don’t argue with her about Landry, mostly because I’m not sure she’s wrong with what she’s hinting at.
I leave my clothes in the hamper, enjoy a hot shower, and as much as I want to crash, I spend two hours editing footage of me, Sadie, and Landry in the stables from today.
The last clip I watch and take notes on is one of just Landry, his back to the camera, arms stretched between the doorframe of the old farmhouse as he talks to Sadie, who is not visible but inside.
Staring at a frozen portion in the footage, one blue eye looking at me over his shoulder, I wonder if Landry has just been warming up to me lately because he’s been working up to asking me for this huge favor.
Marriage.
Sounds crazy to call it nothing more than a favor, but that’s what he’s asking. For me to marry him as a favor to get him out of his bind, which is indeed quite the bind.
Hitting play on the footage, Landry turns, and it’s only now that I see his eyes are all over me, running down my legs and up my torso, bouncing between my breasts and my face. I wasn’t watching him when I filmed this portion, rather watching the upstairs window in case I caught a glimpse of Sadie.
He’s taking me in like he wants to eat me up, and I know that look because it’s the same way I’m staring at his likeness onscreen, a wanton throb between my legs.
“No,” I say aloud, forcing myself to hear the single-syllable exclamation.
I’m not agreeing to this because I think Landry is hot.
I’m agreeing because I understand his struggle, and I’m aware of the agony this hardworking man has been through.
I’m agreeing to help because that’s what good people do.
And the perks for my film.
If we married, I’d move in. I’d get early morning footage from within the house, instead of me arriving at four, where I miss his process of waking up, stretching his sore muscles from yesterday’s training, the way morning looks against his face when he stands at the sink and makes coffee—I could film all of that, and add a layer of vulnerability and closeness that I couldn’t do otherwise.
Devin appears in my mind, and as much as I don’t want the decision to do this favor for Landry to have anything to do with him, I can’t help but imagine the look on his face when he learns that I married this fucking gorgeous cowboy, and made a movie that wins awards and blows past him professionally.
My eyes get heavy, but I pull my phone off the charger and do a quick search of Texas marriage, learning they can be both quick and reversible.
Perfect.
I tell myself I’m gonna sleep on it, but in my heart, I already have my answer.