Chapter Three
Opal
I stare at myself in the mirror, studying the way my hair falls on my shoulders. It’s so much longer than it was when I was with Buck last. Hell, everything about me is different. My hair is longer, I’m an executive chef, I’ve gained at least forty pounds, and I’m currently housing a shelter’s worth of stray animals, including two horses and a fleet of one-legged chickens. The farmer that had them was going to put them down, but they’ve been thriving really well here. It’s crazy how animals can adapt to survive. These chickens hop around like one leg was all they were ever going to have.
Why can’t I be that adaptable? Why can’t I move past the hurt and the pain? I mean, compared to having one leg, the hurt Edwin caused me is nothing, right?
The night I met Buck, Edwin and I had just had what was probably our fourth end-of-the-relationship fight of the year, and I was convinced we were done. In those moments when someone tells you they wish they’d never met you and they were seeing someone else on the side, you should probably remember it a week later. So, when Buck walked up to me, it was a strong, brief breath of fresh air as I sat on top of the landfill that was my life. I wanted to believe… but I couldn’t. Even after that night, all the calls and texts would never change that. It’s why I kept going back to Edwin. He met the standards I’d set for myself.
Once I finally found it in me to break free, I threw myself into my work at the ranch. Buck’s messages would keep coming, but that was the old me. The weak me. I spent night after night telling myself that, scared to confirm it by texting him back. But when I saw him in person again, I had the same feeling. That light, refreshing breath that permeated every part of my soul.
A solid knock hits my door twice, and my heart skips with some kind of feeling I don’t fully recognize. I’m sure it’s my body trying to tell me how supremely excited I should be that a rich, global superstar is paying me any attention, but I can’t let myself go there. I need to stay composed. I need to protect myself, which means not getting sucked in to whatever Mr. tall, dark, rich, and handsome has to say.
Pinching my lips together, I twist the nob and open the door, inadvertently squeezing my thighs when I see Buck standing there. He has always been attractive, but now, he’s even easier on the eyes. I wonder if it’s all that Nashville magic.
Why does it seem like celebrities age slower, never gain a pound, and are always looking perfect?
That said, Buck still wears an old pair of blue jeans and a Carhartt t-shirt. It’s probably part of the schtick. I’m sure they want him looking blue-collar to better identify with all us common folks. The thing that’s changed the most about him is the number of tattoos. Tattoos and muscles. I guess those are two things, or way more than two things, if you count every new muscle. I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s got biceps on top of biceps… so we could be here counting for a while.
He hands me a handful of local flowers that he’s wrapped in a wet paper towel and tied with a piece of string. “I… it’s just… I know you like flowers and I wanted to give you something personal, not pick something generic at the store.”
What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I always have to be such a hard-ass? Why can’t I crash into him like the crazy person I feel like? Why can’t I gush over the flowers and thank him profusely with hugs and kisses? Why can’t I live in the moment instead of getting stuck on what’s inevitably going to end us?
“Thank you,” I finally say, holding the black and yellow petals up to my face. “These are gorgeous. You shouldn’t have.”
Really, girl? That’s all you got?
“I hope it’s not too dorky. I could get you a big bouquet at the flower shop on the way home if you’d rather. I just remember you talking about how much you love wildflowers when we last talked and—”
“They’re perfect.” I lean into him, attempting to hide the hesitation in my touch. He smells so good, like Christmas morning or a day out in the woods. Pine, cinnamon, maybe a hint of cedar. The longer we embrace, the easier it gets, and the further my brain drifts from the future consequences of my actions.
“I’ve missed you, Opal.” His voice is rough and deep, his breath warm against the lobe of my ear.
“You too,” I whisper, unsure of what the hell I’m doing. “I, ugh,” I pull away from him, attempting to compose myself, “I see your taste in boots has changed.”
He glances down at the scaly alligator boots he’s wearing. “Nah, they’re bitch-boy boots. Lucchese. I get all this fancy shit handed to me by promoters. Everyone wants me to endorse them. I wore them because I thought there was a chance they’d impress you.”
“You definitely look impressive. How much do those things cost?”
“Sixteen grand, I think. You want ‘em? I’d rather wear my Red Wings. They’re more comfortable.”
I smile and stare down at the ground before glancing up again. “You look good no matter what you’re wearing.” I can feel a playful grin lift my cheeks as I say, “I bet I’m making so many girls jealous right now. I saw the way they mobbed you the other day after breakfast.”
His cheeks turn red and he looks away. “Yeah, well… it’s part of it all, I guess. Funny, I can’t get you to return my calls, though.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I haven’t returned many calls this year.”
He nods slowly, never turning his gaze away. I’m not sure what it is about the way he looks at me, but at the moment, I’m back to where I was a year ago. My heart pounds, my chest aches, and the desperation to touch him itches at my palms.
What the hell am I doing? I should go back inside, lock the door, and force myself to watch reruns of The Office. I should shove him out the door and bolt it closed behind him, then bury myself in bed until I forget he ever came back. Or maybe, I should run to the chicken coop and let the hens explain to me how to adapt to the world.
He tilts his head down slightly, with that grin on his face that everyone in the world is finding hard to resist. “I thought we could hit up that old mining camp for a picnic. I had Josie pack us some fresh bread, fruit, cheese, and hopefully some cupcakes.”
“Wow,” I say with a grin, excited by the fact that he’s planned something. It’s been a while since I dated, but even longer since I had a man that wanted to put effort into one. “That sounds so nice. I love that old camp. There were bears up there last week, though.”
“I’ll keep you safe. I told Sawyer today that I’d rather a few bears than the paparazzi. Thankfully, I haven’t seen anyone today.”
I grab my coat off the hanger by the door. “I heard the photographers were trying to gain access to the ranch houses. Scarlett was working hard to get all that figured out.”
Scarlett owns Mail Order Ranch, and she’s also become one of my closest friends. Some days, I’m not sure what I’d do without her.
Buck reaches out for my hand and guides me out to the pickup truck that sits warming in the driveway. I try to focus on the truck, or the warm air, or the birds singing, but all I’m thinking about is his hand. His big, rough, calloused hand. I don’t imagine he’s doing much labor these days, but rather built the calluses from playing his guitar. Buck helps me up into the truck, wrapping his careful hand around my waist, then climbs up himself on the opposite side.
“I’ve loved driving the past month. I miss it so much when we’re out on the road.”
“I remember you saying that when we were at the diner that night. You were so worried you wouldn’t get to take those long drives. I’m sorry you’ve been missing out.”
He glances toward me and smiles as he pulls out onto the main road. “Well, I get a lot of other things, so I shouldn’t complain. Besides, that’s not what I’m missing the most.”
My heart swells and my body heats. I want to believe every word he says. I want to fall into him and lose myself in his light blue eyes… but I can’t. Love isn’t real. It’s an illusion. An idea sold to us by card companies and romance books. In reality, people get bored. People leave. People cause pain. I don’t want to hurt again.
“You ever listen to my music?”
I was hoping this wouldn’t come up. “Is it awful that I don’t?”
He glares toward me playfully. “What, never?”
I shake my head and try not to smile. It’s not a happy smile, rather an embarrassed grin. “I mean I did. The first few songs. I think there was one about a tractor, right?”
He glances back toward the road. “Wow. So, all this time I think I’m out here singing to the girl that got away, and you weren’t even listening,” he says, his tone teasing.
“Who was the girl that got away?”
“Really?” He laughs under his breath. “I’ve called you every week for a year.”
“I know, but I figured you… I don’t know. I just… I’m scared.”
“Of what? Is this about rehab? It wasn’t real. I needed a break, so they staged a stunt at a rehab facility in Southern California so I could take some time. I guess it’s a pretty normal thing to do. I don’t know. Some of this shit I just go along with.”
“No, it’s not about rehab. It’s me.” I clear my throat and stare out the window, watching the pine trees grow as we climb further up the mountain. “I… since the thing happened with my ex, it’s been hard to trust anyone, ya know? I mean, I know logically that you’re a nice guy, but my heart is on lockdown.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It’s not. I have friends at work, and I like the little life I’ve built on the farm. Besides, I’m sure you’ve met lots of women who caught your attention. We shared one night together. That’s hardly enough for you to know I’m the one.”
He laughs and flicks on his blinker, turning into the path that leads toward the old mining camp nestled beside the river. Mountains lift up from the ground and surround the cabins where moss grows up over worn, dilapidated logs. I’ve always loved these settlements. The miners have long since gone, but the remains of their dreams sprawl like a broken capsule. A snapshot of a time when dreams and reality collided, and half the continent was yet to be explored.
The truck engine cuts off and Buck stares at me, scrubbing his hand down over his face. “You ever find yourself lonely in a room full of people?”
I laugh. “I don’t usually put myself in rooms full of people.”
“Well, I’ve been standin’ in a room full of people for twelve months, and I’ve never been lonelier. I’m a paycheck, a dancing monkey, a caricature of what women think they want.” He reaches for my hand, brushing his thumb over the back of my palm. “That night we met was the last night I felt like a person. A real, genuine human being. My entire life has become a show.”
I stare toward him, studying the way his eyebrows pinch together and his hair hangs across his face. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”
“I’m lucky. I know that, but fame comes at a price. Unfortunately, that price is everything real. Does that guy still bother you? I’ve thought about it so much over the year.”
Dragging in a deep breath, I climb down out of the truck and meet Buck in the path a few feet away. My stomach tightens when I see him carrying the picnic basket he brought.
“We don’t have to talk about it, if it’s weird for you.” He grabs my hand in his and we meander down the hilly path of sprouting wildflowers and tall grass as the wind blows the scent of pine and cedar through the air. I’m not sure if I want to talk about Edwin or not, but given the reason Buck and I met, I figure I owe him an update.
“It’s okay. He hasn’t contacted me lately. I think he’s happy with the other girl. Last I heard, they’re expecting a baby.”
“Shit. That’s… wow. How are you handling it all? It’s gotta sting.”
“No. I mean, it did. We were on and off for like five years. We had plans, ya know?” I shrug. “I’m over it now.” I leave out the part about the massive brick walls I’ve built, but I’m sure those are obvious.
“You’re still hurt. I see it,” he says as we settle in a sunny spot next to the stream overlooking the mountain range. I’m not sure this place could be more perfect if it were a painting. I need to come down here more.
“I’m not actively hurting. I just… it’s hard to trust again. I’m so afraid to get hurt, so I think I overprotect myself.” I’m trying to focus on my words but he looks so good spreading out the blanket that my brain keeps losing focus.
With his hand on my back, he helps me down onto the blanket, then settles next to me. God, it feels good to be this close to him. He’s big and warm and he looks at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted. Why won’t my brain believe it’s real? Why can’t I let myself be in the moment?
“I could help protect you.” He lands his sandpaper palm on my cheek and brushes his thumb slowly. “I promise you… I wouldn’t let you down.”
Swallowing hard, I shift my gaze to the side. “You know, I made this really good peach cobbler last week. Instead of using the regular recipe I have, I added a few apples into the mix. It made a huge difference.”
He leans back and narrows his gaze toward me. “Yeah? What kind of apple do you use?”
“Honeycrisp. Is there any other kind?”
He stares at me, his eyes still narrowed, his body on the verge of something I can’t identify.
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out how to crack you.”
“You can’t crack me because I don’t want to be cracked. There are so many girls out there. I’m sure there’s at least one that’s willing to be real with you.”
He laughs and leans in again, bringing with him that warm scent of cinnamon and pine. “I don’t want another girl. I knew that the second I laid eyes on you. And if it takes the rest of my life, I’m going to figure you out, sweetheart… and you’re gonna let me.”
I bite back a grin. “Is that right? And what makes you think I’m gonna go and do something like that?”
He inches closer and closer, my heart hammering against my chest until all at once his lips are on mine.
Why does it feel so good? So warm? So perfect? Why am I allowing it to happen? Why aren’t I screaming and running away? Man, I really suck at protecting myself.
I should resist, but every neuron in my body relaxes into the shelter of his arms, and soon, I’m lost, hoping I’m never found again.