10 | Dreamin aloud
CLEMENTINE
I head straight for Mama’s house, my heart still slamming against my ribs. I touch my fingers to my lips, which are still tingling from his kiss.
The scrape of his scruff against my neck, his hands on my skin—he just undid seven years of trying real hard to get over him in one damn moment.
Goddamn it, I thought I was stronger than this.
I half-jog up the porch stairs and bust through the door. Mama’s on her knees with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, scrubbing baseboards like her life depends on it.
She barely looks up. “Well don’t just stand there, Clementine. Grab a sponge and help an old lady out.”
I can’t help but grin, toeing off my sneakers and padding toward her. I snag a sponge from the bucket and drop to my knees a few feet away. She finally gives me a once-over, then sits back on her heels with a knowing smirk.
“Girl, you been up to no good.”
Heat crawls up my cheeks. I glance down at my blouse, perfectly buttoned—no proof there.
“You’ve been rollin’ in the hay.” Mama wiggles her brows. “And it better have been my oldest boy you’ve been rolling around with. I ain’t seen him smile like this in years.”
My hand flies to my hair. Sure enough, I pluck out a sprig of straw, toss it in the bucket, and scowl at it. “Don’t be silly, Mama. I just had a riding lesson, that’s all.”
“Mmmhm.” Mama drags it out, voice syrup-sweet. “You been ridin’ alright.”
“Mama!” I gasp, turning back to the baseboards like I can scrub the shame away.
She chuckles. “I’m just sayin’, sweetheart. We’re all mighty glad you’re back.”
I huff, scrubbing harder. “I’m not back.”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sugar.” She groans as she pushes to her feet. “We need tea. Hot or cold?”
“Cold, please,” I mumble, eyes fixed on the floor.
I catch her in my peripheral, wiggling her brows at me. “Yeah, I figured you could use somethin’ to cool off.”
She reappears in the doorway with a pitcher of sweet tea and a sack of potatoes big enough to feed a battalion. “You gonna help me peel for supper?”
I hold up my sponge. “I’m only one person, Mama.”
She sends me a sly grin. “Figured you might like the view from the kitchen better.”
I sigh and toss the sponge into the bucket. I join her in the kitchen, grabbing a potato and knife. “I can’t stay long. The contractor is stopping by later and I wanna make some changes to the plans.”
She jerks her chin toward the kitchen window. “You’re free to go when you please, sugar. How ’bout you stand right here by the sink while you peel, hmm?”
“Only for a little bit,” I mutter, stepping up to the sink. I peel the first strip of skin from the potato when movement outside catches my eye.
Mama sidles up, working her own potato. Her gaze slides to where mine is—out in the yard, where Colt’s bent over tightening a cinch strap. His shirt clings to his back, muscles shifting beneath the wet fabric.
My throat goes dry. Electricity coils low in my belly.
“Mhm.” Mama hums, voice laced with pride. “Thought you might like the view. That boy was born for this place. You ever seen anybody so damn content just… workin’?”
“Yeah, he looks happy,” I manage, my voice rough.
She elbows me gently, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Happier since you showed up. Lord, Clementine, he even started whistlin’ again. I near about dropped my skillet the first time I heard it.”
The ache in my chest sharpens. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” She studies me, then her smile melts into something softer, dreamy. “Can’t help wonderin’ what it’d be like, you settlin’ back here. This house full of laughter again. My Colton finally lettin’ somebody close—and maybe puttin’ a ring where it belongs.”
My breath hitches. She sees it, too, because she catches herself quick, shaking her head.
“Now don’t you mind me. Just a mama dreamin’ out loud. Ain’t my place to be meddlin’.”
“We barely dated, Mama, and that was seven years ago. I don’t know whose wedding bells you think you hear, but they’re not ours.”
“I know love when I see it, Clementine. And I see it in both of y’all. Been seein’ it since you still had your braces on.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re cheatin’ yourself out of a peeling buddy.”
She raises both starch-covered hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’ll hush my big mouth.”
We peel in silence, both of us watching Colt haul bales into a trailer. His back strains with every lift, forearms slick with sweat and grit. We don’t hear Wells until his voice cuts the quiet.
“Enjoyin’ the show, are we?”
I nearly slice my thumb. “Christ, Wells, don’t sneak up like that.”
“I called out twice,” he says, grinning. “You were too busy droolin’ over my brother.”
I shove my half-peeled potato at him. “Looks like you got yourself a new helper, Mama.”
“Before you pawn me off,” Wells says, “I actually came for you, Clem. Ginger’s calvin’. Wanna come watch? Or that only interest you when Colt’s around?”
My heart stutters. “No—I’d love to see!”
“Then let’s roll.” He puts the potato down, kissing Mama’s cheek. “Sorry, Mama.”
She kisses his cheek right back. “Go on then, boy.”
Wells leads me outside, and I freeze. “Wait,” I start. “I don’t—”
“—Ride anymore,” he finishes, throwing me a look. “Figured that, with the lessons and all. Lucky for you, we’re not saddlin’ up. Hop on.” He jerks his head at the ATV parked on the dirt road.
I climb on behind him and clutch his shirt when he speeds off, tires spitting dirt behind us.
----
Ginger’s down in the straw when we get there, sides heaving, low groans rolling out as she shifts around nervously. One look and I see the calf already half-out. My heart leaps into my throat.
I glance at Wells, expecting gloves, tools—something—but he’s leaning on the gate next to me, chin resting on his fist. “Cool, huh?”
“Shouldn’t you be helping?” My eyes dart to the canvas bag by his boots—the same one Colton brought last time.
“Nah. She’s a good mama. She’s got this.” He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
The calf wriggles, still in the sac. My pulse spikes. “Are you sure? She looks like she’s—”
A low moan cuts me off. The calf slithers free with a gush of fluid, hitting the straw in a wet heap. My breath catches. The little body kicks weakly, but its head is still trapped, wrapped tightly in the amnion.
“It can’t breathe!” I’m moving before thought catches up—climbing the fence, then dropping to my knees in the straw.
Behind me, Wells curses. “Damn it, Clem, you can’t just—”
I’m already tearing the sac open with my bare hands, though—scooping viscous mucus from its nostrils, clearing its mouth. The calf jerks, tongue lolling, and then—blessed sound—it wheezes. Breath.
Life.
Relief crashes through me. I sit back on my heels, wiping my hands on my blouse, chest heaving. Ginger hauls herself up, mooing softly as she nudges toward her calf to lick it clean.
I turn, panting—and freeze. Colt’s there now, leaned over the gate beside Wells, hat shadowing his eyes but his grin is clear as day.
“Good instincts, Tiny.”
My pulse stutters for a whole other reason now. I lift my slimy hands. “Am I about to catch some scary farm disease?”
“Come here.” His voice drops low, rough. “Let’s make sure you don’t.”
He swings the gate open, leading me toward the little sink by the door. He pumps soap into my palms, his big hands covering mine as he works it into every crease and under every nail.
“I can wash my own hands, Colton,” I protest, but I don’t pull back.
His hands cage mine, slick as they lather, skin sliding on skin. My lungs seem to shrivel in my chest, heat prickling low in my stomach.
Colton rinses our hands slowly, then carefully dries them with paper towel.
“Alright,” he says casually, though his eyes burn hotter than hellfire. “Now take off your blouse.”
----
YES. SIR. ?? Think she'll do it? ??