12. The Sting
The Sting
Falon
Gossip in Everwood runs faster than the speed of light, and if anyone didn’t believe me, then they have never lived in a small town.
By the time I've finished the morning feed and checked the water levels, my phone has logged fourteen texts and two missed calls.
There was no reason to read them. I already knew what they said.
And I doubted that any of them were texting to see what I fed the chickens or if I had any eggs.
Everwood has one speed when something happens, and it isn't slow.
After morning chores, I place my phone on silent and shower, pull my hair back, and go about my regular Thursday.
I’m getting my second cup of coffee when I go through today’s list. My list has a few to-do’s and a couple errands on it, and even though I know town will be like bees on honey, I still have to hit the pharmacy and pick up dad’s prescription, stop by the garden center and pick up a pot because I broke the one in the living room when the latter tipped over, and the feed store for a new pair of leather gloves.
Nothing big, but when my phone lights up again, I groan.
Because it’s most likely Kevin. He’d most likely be calling to backpedal.
Kevin made a fool of himself. Bo didn't take the bait.
Sheriff Palmer handled it. That's the whole story, and Kevin would try to spin it, and the town can have whatever version of it they want. I wasn’t there, but I trust Millie, Daisy, Alex, and Bo.
I tried to park in front of Ethel’s and walked across the street from there.
First errand: the pharmacy. Prescription pickup for Dad, plus the specific brand of hand lotion Mom likes that they only carry at Dawson's.
The Pharmacy was empty, but Mr. Dawson gave me a sympathetic look.
“You okay?” he asks when he hands me my dad’s meds, and I place Mom’s lotion on the counter.
“Yep, just running errands.” I pay while he keeps giving me knowing looks over the rim of his glasses. See, Falon, it’s just a normal Thursday. I lie to myself.
“Well, you tell your daddy I hope he feels better, and don’t worry, Falon, today’s news is tomorrow's trash.” He tries to comfort me, but we all know better than that. The gossip clubs will be chewing on this one for a while.
“I will,” I say, acting like normal, and do my best not to run out of there before he says something else.
I wasn’t even involved. It was over before I even got there.
Second errand: Garden Center. That plant needs something better than an emergency cardboard box. The pots are near the right-hand side. Mr. Patton is on the phone when I walk in, which means I am in and out in four minutes flat, a personal record. I take the small miracle and don't question it.
I'm at Ethel's by eight-fifteen, coffee ordered, and doing my best not to listen to the origami club whisper loud enough for the entire place to hear about last night’s bar debacle.
In the words of Sue Bennett, the retired librarian, “It was quite the spectacle. The way I hear it, he was three sheets to the wind and half a second away from a Clint Eastwood scene, pistols at dawn and everything.”
“Oh, posh,” Kathy, the high school principal, chimes in. “Though Penny would have made it into a Shakespearean play.” The women laughs, and I try to stay as nonexistent as I can.
Ethel passes me my coffee to go and bites her lip to keep herself from laughing. “He’s as thick as tar, you know that, right?” she says just over a whisper, as not to draw attention.
“Yeah, I wish he’d find another target.”
“He will…eventually.” She doesn’t look convinced, and neither am I.
“Thanks, Ethel.”
“Is Bo okay? I know he didn’t do anything, but I see him here on Mondays, and he’s a little high-strung sometimes, you know.”
“Yeah, he’s good, thanks for asking. He’s staying on the ranch today. He’s towned out.”
“I can see that.” She pats my hand, and I am out of there in ten minutes total.
I'm back on the sidewalk outside Ethel's with my coffee still warm in my hand, headed for the truck, when I hear him.
"Falon."
I groan, then paste a smile on my face. I know the voice, and trust me when I say I wanted nothing to do with him, especially now.
Kevin Bennett was coming from the pharmacy and jogged to catch up to me in another pressed button-down. When he got closer, his jog became a saunter.
"Hey." I keep my voice even. "Morning."
"Morning." He falls into step beside me. “Glad I ran into you,” he says, like he just happened to be there. Kevin Bennett has never done anything accidentally in his life.
"How are you doing? After last night."
"Fine." I keep moving. "Nothing to do with me."
"I heard differently." He matches my pace, easy and unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world and fully expects me to slow down for him. "I heard you showed up."
"I was meeting the girls. I was late." I glance at him sideways. "Kevin, I've got errands."
"I just want a minute."
"You've had a lot of minutes lately."
He doesn't flinch. That's the thing about Kevin. He doesn't flinch. He just recalibrates. "I know you're frustrated with me. I get it. But I want you to know that last night wasn't about you. I had too much to drink, and I said some things I shouldn't have."
I stop walking.
Not because I believe him. Because I want to look at him when I say this.
"Kevin. I told you clearly, twice, that I'm not interested in dating you. Last night, you were drunk in a bar, saying my name every other sentence. Those two things don't go together, and I think you know that."
"Because of Gates." He folds his arms in frustration.
"Yes, but not all of it." My voice stays flat. "It’s because of me, too."
His jaw tightens. Just slightly.
"I think," he says, carefully, "that you're confused about what you want."
"I'm really not."
Kevin steps in before I finish. Placing one hand at the base of my neck.
Suddenly closing the distance, his other hand comes up toward my cheek.
“Wait. No! Kevin!” I yell firmly. I turn my face and place my hands against his chest and push. Is he seriously trying to kiss me? I think incredulously. No way. He couldn’t possibly.
Even as I push, at first he doesn’t budge and keeps moving in; then I push harder and adjust my feet, just in case a knee is necessary. Then I push him firmly away from me.
He stops, and I look at him, surprised and angry. What had he planned? That he’d come in for a sneak attack and I’d just fall into his arms? No. When has that ever worked?
The silence after it is the loudest thing on the street.
I drop my hands and step back. "Don't ever," I seethed, “try that again.”
The warmth in his eyes vanishes, replaced by the detached curiosity of a shark. The charm drops, and what he’s been hiding underneath it isn't pretty.
He gets a knowing smirk on his face. I hate that smirk, always have. That smirk means he’s about to do something stupid, and I know it.
"You know why he's here, right?" His voice drops all casual like. "Bo Gates."
"He's renting my guest house. He’s on temporary leave, then reserves."
"Is that what he told you?" It isn't a question.
I look at him.
"Tyler called him." Kevin watches my face while he says it.
"Before Bo ever showed up in Everwood. Tyler asked him to come back.
To keep an eye on you." He pauses, letting that hit me fully.
"Because of me, actually. Tyler was worried about me being back in town, and he wanted someone watching out for you.
" Another pause. "But the thing is, Falon, he can’t be yours because of the promise.”
I narrow my eyes. “What promise?” I ask, feeling my stomach drop.
He smiles then, and it isn’t friendly. “Has been since we were kids.
Junior year, Tyler made Bo promise he'd never pursue you.
Never cross that line." He tilts his head, and I’m almost afraid to hear more.
"So all that time he's been spending on your ranch, all those moments you probably thought you had, he's been doing a job. Tyler's job."
For a quick moment, the world fades away, and I am vaguely aware I’m on Main Street. Mrs. Winslow is on her bench, and the diner behind me, but the rest fades.
"Ask him." One could mistake Kevin's voice for gentle; I saw it for what it was, condescending. "Ask him why he really came back. Ask him about the promise."
I don't say anything. What is there for me to say? I’d like to call him a liar, but I know Tyler, and it would make sense why Bo keeps pulling back.
He sees that as he gets his words across. His shoulders ease back. He tucks his hands in his pockets. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I just think you deserve the truth."
He turns and walks away.
I stand on the sidewalk outside Ethel's diner with my coffee in my hand and watch him go.
That’s when the careful morning I had planned crashed and burned.
My mind reeled. Every time Bo stepped back from an almost-moment. Every careful inch of distance he kept. I thought that was fear from war. I thought it was grief and the service and the weight he carried.
But there was a promise. Why don’t I get to choose? Who is Tyler and Bo to decide for me?
Millie honks beside me with her window down, happy as punch. She was in her new vet truck doing her Thursday house calls.
She takes one look at my face. "You okay, Falon?"
"Yes?" I think I am.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, stopping now in the middle of Main.
“No, I think I need to think this one through first. Rain check?” I ask, not knowing what to do at the moment.
She looks at me for another second. "I've got a farm call out on Route 9. I'll be at the clinic after two if you change your mind."
"Thanks, Millie."
She gives me a small nod and drives on. That's Millie. She seems to know people as well as she knows animals. No wonder she’s a good vet.
I'm still standing there, paralyzed with indecision, when Mrs. Winslow stands up, paper bag from Dawson's tucked under one arm. Her eyes move from my face to the direction Kevin walked, and back again. She's eighty-one years old, and she doesn't miss a single thing.
She looks at me for a long moment.
"Pain is a dreadful architect," she says. "It will build you a prison and call it wisdom. Truth’s always better. Wait until it can be looked at plainly."
She pats my arm once. Then she walks away. Mrs. Windslow’s like that.
I stand there until the sound of her footsteps fades.
Then I get in my truck, and I drive home.
The Blue Heelers meet me at the gate. Oliver first, then Atlas, then Cooper, and Aries coming in from the barn at a run when they hear the engine.
They circle the truck while I park, then follow me to the barn in a loose, easy cluster.
Waiting for their next orders. I loved working dogs; they thrived on jobs, and a ranch had a never-ending list.
I change into work clothes and get moving.
I did the errand list, including the Kevin line I didn’t want to add, now I needed to conquer my to-do list. There's a section of fence line that has needed attention for two weeks. I load the posts and wire into the truck bed and drive out with the dogs following along. The work is hard and my hands and my body work, but I’d hoped it had done more to keep my head from running in circles.
I set posts. I stretch the wire. I work the fence pliers until my forearms ache.
The dogs settle in the grass nearby, watching, occasionally lifting their heads at something in the tree line. Oliver comes and sits beside me twice, just presses his shoulder against my leg for a minute, then goes back to the grass. Dogs always know.
I'm working the last post into the ground when I hear Hank bleating.
He's at the fence by the barn, watching me with those knowing goat eyes, his chin resting on the top rail. He makes a low sound when I look at him. He talks like that, and I love him.
I walk over and lean my arms on the fence rail beside him.
I stand there for a while, murmuring to him about everything and nothing.
Then, back to work when Hank jumped onto the wire spool in his pen.
He likes high places. The Heelers follow me back to the fence and listen to me mumble under my breath about how many ways I’m going to beat Tyler to death.
Aries doesn’t seem to care, but the Heelers are different.
They look at me like I’m going to do something amazing, and they're ready for it. They are always ready.
I just finished loading when Frank crows from the chicken run.
I think about what Kevin said. What was he hoping I'd do with it? Yell at Bo for lying to Tyler and me for getting in the way, then run into his arms? Yeah, that was never going to happen.
Here's what I keep circling back to.
Why did Kevin have to tell me? Why not Bo? Or Tyler?
Kevin was drunk and mean and angling for an outcome. Bo has been on this ranch for weeks, and each day was an omission.
Every almost-moment. Every time he pulled back. I thought I knew what that was. I thought I was watching a man fight himself.
Maybe I was. But there was more he chose not to tell me.
I don't know yet if I'm angry at Kevin for using the truth like a weapon.
Or at Bo for making it one by not telling me first.
I just know that every time Bo stepped back from me, I thought it was about his past. His grief. The weight he carries.
But it was a promise.
I push off the fence.
I've got a ranch to run. I'll figure out the rest later.
But I will figure it out. That much I know.