5. Colton
FIVE
COLTON
Every inch of this house is familiar. The way my own childhood home sang me songs of my past the moment I rolled up out front, the Conway house is playing me those same ghostly tunes.
The past.
Everything I knew to be perfect and good happened on this stretch of land beneath my feet, spanning between my father’s and her father’s property. Specifically, the person who made me whole, brought me the things I never knew I was missing– she’s here .
Carsyn said she hasn’t seen her in years, but I see the ghost of her here, in the knitted doily resting atop the TV set, bunny ears poking through the delicate filigree. Louisa May Alcott and Jane Austen take up space on the shelves, and a memory of her in the tall grass flashes behind my eyes, lean arms reaching to the sky, a paperback book spread between her hands. An invisible claw grips my heart as I move through the house as quietly as possible. Maybe foolishly, I walk past the home office toward her room.
I know why I’m here, and taking a painful fucking tiptoe down memory lane isn’t it. But as I get closer, vanilla and orange waft my way, and for a split second, my heart remembers. It thrashes behind my ribs, breaking free from the painful clutch of a moment ago.
I know she’s not here.
But my body goes hot and tingly before numb and nearly limp as I press into her childhood bedroom, finding everything as it was when I knew her years ago.
When I loved her years ago.
Above her bed, a poster of a horse is still taped at the corners. The Gypsy Vanner with a chocolate coat, sprinkled in hearty patches of snowy white is faded, but still beautiful, and I wonder, wherever she is, did she ever get the chance to see a Gypsy Vanner in person? Ride one? Stroke her fingers through its whimsical mane, telling it how beautiful it is, the same way she did her very own Quarter Horse? I wonder.
My eyes shift from the poster to the framed academic achievement on the wall. Principal’s Honor Roll, dated the year she graduated high school. I’d have been well into my first year at the ranch in Texas when she earned herself that. My jaw tightens and my nostrils flare as I force myself to swallow down the thought that she was here, smiling and earning the honor roll, and I was there, hoping my sweat covered my tears as I kept my head down and worked the land, willing myself to get stronger. Or to just forget.
I got stronger, but as I stare at the chain of dandelions looped around the dusty gold frame, I don’t feel like ten years have passed.
I don’t feel strong.
I don’t feel wiser, either.
My throat bobs, so I lift my chin just slightly, refusing to let my heart turn on me right now. Coming in here was a fool’s errand, and I don’t know what I was thinking. I suppose I’d hoped to see a spare bedroom, with no sign of her existence.
With my eyes on the dandelions, I refuse to get lost in the years of memories I keep locked up tight, and I pull the door closed.
I trudge back downstairs and down the hall, reminding myself why I came back to Buffalo Trails in the first place. The toes of my boots dust the bottom of the door as I approach the office. Wrapping my gloved palm around the shiny knob, I push inside. Orange and vanilla, as sweet and potent as ever, rush toward me, wrapping my senses. I grip the doorframe, and once again fight against the flood of memories that wash over me. I head inside, reminding myself I’m here for Carsyn. I’m here for our ranch.
TEN YEARS AGO
I’m not ready to go, and I don’t need to ask her to know she’s not ready either. If we could, we’d live in this tall grass together forever.
But the sun is sliding from the sky toward the horizon, giving way to early evening. I’d lay with her out here all night if we could, but she’s gotta be back before the sun sets. I see to it that she does, despite all my insides scrunching up and twisting every evening when I walk away from her house.
Following her father’s rules is important. “Obeying Forrest Conway is of the utmost importance,” my own father told me. That no matter how much I love a girl, if her dad doesn’t like me, I’m toast.
I want to do things right with her, for us. For our future.
I weave my fingers through hers, loving how small her hand is when her fingers close around mine. I rock onto my side, using my elbow and hand to keep my head propped up as I take her in, lying on her back in the grass. Her long lashes flutter gently as a slow breeze trickles past. Her full lips curl into a smile, freckles deepening in color as her cheeks pinken.
“You’re watching me.”
I stroke a stray hair from her face, my knuckles brushing the arch of her cheek. Her skin is velvet soft, and it’s all I think about.
Holding her hand.
Tracing my fingertips up and down the curve of her neck when it’s sore after riding her horse.
Wrapping my palm around her knee and greedily stealing swipes of the inside of her leg.
I don’t even allow myself to think of all the places on her body, soft and pliable, undiscovered and perfect.
I know those places are for me. When she’s ready. Hell, when I’m ready.
But for now, twisting her hair around my finger over and over as afternoon melts against my back is what I have.
“I like watching you,” I whisper, leaning down slowly to steal a kiss. My shadow droops over her eyelids, and her eyes flutter open.
“Caught ya,” she says through a smile.
I slide my hat off my head, knowing my hair is a sweaty mess on my brow, but I do it anyway to shield us. No one’s around and even if they were, we’re tucked down into the pasture so well, you’d need a spotting scope to see us.
Still, I love kissing her under the cover of my favorite hat. The hat she got me.
“Lock me up,” I whisper, dusting my lips against hers. “Because I’m stealing a kiss.”
Her soft laugh slips beneath my collar, sliding down my back, warm and comfortable, making my crotch stir and my chest tighten. Our mouths collide, her soft moans inflating my chest with pride and passion.
She tangles a hand in my hair as I slide my tongue along hers, savoring the bubble gum flavor. Her nails explore my scalp as our tongues twist, her back arching off the ground toward me as she does. She feels so fucking good in my arms, in the grass, her lips on mine.
Tied off at the tree nearby, her horse startles, interrupting our kiss.
“Probably a bee,” she giggles beneath me, her lean fingers stroking the length of my shirt, tracing each button. “You know Charlie is scared of her own shadow.”
There’s a rustling not too far off, somewhere in the grove of willows and cottonwoods, facing the back of her father’s property. She seems unfazed as I help her sit up and watch as she straightens the baby blue-and-white gingham sundress she’s wearing. She plucks the strung-together chain of dandelions from the grass, and continues weaving new flowers into it. We started making dandelion chains out here years ago, when we were just grade school kids that didn’t want to go home. Now, at sixteen and seventeen, we don’t need to pretend we’re here to make dandelion chains. We’re out here because we’d do anything to be together, and the flower chaining is now just a beautiful by-product.
I could watch her make them all day long.
I could watch her all damn day.
In that wholesome little blue-and-white dress.
All I wanna do is slide my hand beneath the hem of that dress and touch her panties. Drag my big dirty fingers along the waistband, just to see if they’re as soft as she is.
“You look lost,” she grins, retying her hair into a loose pony. She never wears it down when she rides. Hates it getting tangled.
Pretending I wasn’t just thinking about her panties, I shoot her a smile and jump to my feet, holding my hat over my groin. Outstretching a hand to her, I smile. “I was just thinking, as much as I wanna lie here kissing you, it’s time to get going.” I lift my brows at her as she slips her hand into mine. “We were a few minutes late last Friday, remember? I don’t want that to be a habit.”
She rolls her eyes, but together we walk toward our horses. Charlie whinnies as she approaches, and I think that horse may be the only other living thing that loves Kinleigh Conway as much as I do.
“Where’s my greeting, Murphy?” I ask my own horse as we approach.
Kin laughs, and the noise scatters across my skin, leaving bumps in its wake. I know we’re too young to think of forever—I know because everyone can’t stop telling us that. But when she laughs, that’s the first word I think of–forever. Because that’s how long I’ll love her.
I just gotta tell her that.
“She doesn’t like you because you don’t let her stay out past curfew.” She wrinkles her nose playfully, and I thank my maker I’m already saddled and ready to ride, because I love that little nose wrinkle.
I wanna drag my tongue over it. I wanna press my c–
“But I know,” she draws out, reining in Charlie to face Murphy. “You’re right. We don’t want Daddy getting mad.”
My gut roils at the mention of him.
He may not lay hands on her, but the way he speaks to her, how he treats her—I hate it.
But I have no place of my own, no paying job, and I’m not even done with high school yet. I have to play the long game to rescue her and make her mine. I’ll have to graduate and start working on my dad’s cattle ranch, taking ownership of our family business. It will take a few years but then I'll be ready to take care of her in all ways.
Then she won’t need her dad anymore.
I just need a few years.
Charlie is a little wild, but she seems to always know what Kinleigh needs. She circles up, coming to stand so close that Murphy complains a little, snorting and all. Kinleigh leans over and puckers up. I close the distance and kiss her, and then, with my heart pumping wildly, she removes the dandelion from behind her ear, stuffing it into my front shirt pocket. We ride back to her father’s house, where I tip my hat to him and pass her off.
I ride through the pastures connecting their land to ours, stable Murphy, and head inside. Carsyn is making noodles at the stove, while Dad slams his open palm into the side of our old TV set, a baseball game flickering on screen.
I take the dandelion from my pocket and slip it into the lining of my hat before resting it on the hook near the door.
I’ve saved every single dandelion Kinleigh has ever given me.
One day, when my ring is on her finger and my last name is hers, I’ll show her. I’ll open a box of dried, pressed flowers and show her how long I’ve loved her.
One day.