15. Laine
15
LAINE
Fine. I’ll admit it.
Sutton looks good as Mr. Cowboy.
There's something undeniably attractive about the way he fits into the rugged ranch atmosphere, as if he’d never lived the life of a city boy. His sturdy frame seems tailor-made for this landscape. I’m not sure how back in the city I didn’t realize just how broad and toned he is. The worn jeans, the simple white shirt that hugs his biceps, and the cowboy hat perched on his head—it all comes together to create an image of classic handsomeness. Despite how much I've seen of him in his New York attire, this version of Sutton still feels more authentic.
All day, I try to be Professional Laine. I try . I interview every person I see at the ranch, asking interesting questions and recording everything. Even so, I find myself constantly distracted.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
It’s no use. Whenever I try to think about my articles, I catch sight of Sutton. He works on the foals with care and attention. He lifts bales of hay like they’re no heavier than a briefcase. He has this silent strength about him, more potent now than ever, and everyone around seems to notice it too. But best of all, whenever he sees me, he smiles, dimples and all.
I was certain that, no matter what my parents said, I wouldn’t blur any lines. No emotions would get tangled. Sutton and I are friends, nothing more. There can’t be more. Because no matter how well we get along, we’re too different. Not just mismatched puzzle pieces, but a puzzle piece and a Scrabble letter mistakenly tossed in the same box.
Sutton is so together . He knows what he wants, and he works hard for it.
Sure, I have my good qualities. I can make people laugh and feel loved. But I also self-destruct. I get distracted and discouraged and indecisive. I abandon every hobby I pick up. I barely graduated from college. The opportunity with Wonderings practically fell into my lap. I don’t have much of an idea of what I want, aside from a vague dream of happiness. I have no true vision for myself or for my life, and I can’t drag Sutton into my mess in any capacity deeper than as a friend.
It wouldn’t be fair to him.
But still, that kiss.
That damn kiss.
I can’t keep my mind off it, and whenever I do allow myself to dwell on it for more than two seconds, my pulse races. The kiss was for show—for Wells—but I hadn’t anticipated the way it would make my body feel like nothing but a pile of firing nerves.
Then again, maybe it’s the thin mountain air making me all dizzy and lightheaded.
Or maybe it’s the excitement of being lovesick, even if it’s a farce.
As the day winds down and the sun dips behind the mountains, turning the clouds in the sky into orange and pink ribbons, I gravitate to the corral once again. Sutton is inside the fence with a foal, petting it reassuringly and feeding it hay pellets from a tin bucket.
With a deep breath, I remind myself why I'm here, to write some articles and help my friend. Not to let myself get distracted by dimples and stolen kisses.
“You really like him, huh?” Wells asks me as he walks over from the barn, leaning on the corral gate beside me.
Wells is handsome, like Sutton, but still has a hint of boyishness to him. His hair is longer, the waves at the back encroaching on mullet territory. And while Sutton’s beard is close-trimmed, practically stubble, Wells’ beard is thicker, just short enough to show the strong cut of his jaw. Maybe his physical similarities to Sutton made it easier for Cassidy to jump between the two.
That thought makes me want to gag.
Wells scoffs, and I realize I was staring at him. “Is that a no?” he asks, smirking.
“Huh?” I blink, nearly forgetting his initial question. I hope my flustered state can pass as a believable, deep-in-love response. “Oh, yeah. What’s not to like about Sutton?”
“I can think of a few things,” Wells grumbles to himself.
Footsteps sound behind us, and we turn to find Frankie approaching. She was working at the radio station all day, so she’s the only one of us without a layer of dust and grime. Her golden curls are like a halo framing her face. “How was your first day at the ranch?” she asks, hugging me on the side opposite Wells.
“It’s been amazing,” I tell her. “You know, I’d love to interview you one of these days, too. See the world of a small-town radio station owner.”
“Name the day,” Frankie says. Her gaze softens as she watches Sutton, and a small grin spreads across her cheeks .
“Don’t distract Laine,” Wells says to Frankie. “I was trying to hear what she really thinks about our brother.”
“I came at a perfect time, then,” Frankie says, her eyes still on Sutton. When he sees her, she waves him over. “But first! Tell us about how you first met.”
Wells groans at the cheesy question, but he stays at my side, obviously curious despite himself.
“Go ahead,” I say, waving a hand at Sutton as he approaches.
He’s quiet for a moment, and I imagine he’s trying to fabricate some grand, romantic story. When he finally starts talking, he keeps his burning gaze trained on me. “I first saw Laine Rodriguez when she barged into class late. She was wearing a Barbie-pink turtleneck, a matching hat, and this rainbow plaid scarf. Whenever I looked at her, she was twisting her rings around or mindlessly fiddling with the frayed edges of her scarf or pants.”
My mouth opens into a shocked, wide-mouthed smile. How does he remember all this?
“I was annoyed at first,” he continues, a glint in his eyes, “because I hate when people are late to class. She wanted me to tutor her, but I said I didn’t have time. The next night, Laine showed up at a date-auction fundraiser I was volunteering at. She paid three hundred dollars for a date with me—”
“ Almost three hundred dollars,” I correct.
“You can imagine my utter heartbreak when I discovered Laine didn’t actually want to go out on a date with me and insisted it was just for tutoring.”
I roll my eyes, and Sutton bites down on a smile.
“We spent hours at her apartment that night. And aside from her being beautiful, which I was already more than aware of, Laine was also funny and charming and had this incredible ability to make me want to open up to her. Her presence was— is —intoxicating. We’ve spent almost every day together for three months, and each day is better than the last.”
My smile fades a bit. Sutton’s too. He looks at Frankie, shrugging as if to say that’s it .
“Reading all that Shakespeare made you such a romantic,” she laughs, punching his shoulder lightly through the bars of the gate.
I’m still speechless. He portrayed our first encounters so beautifully, even I could be convinced it was the start of an epic love story.
“Ready to call it a day, honeypot? ” Sutton asks, grinning mischievously when he tacks on the ridiculous pet name at the end of his question.
I nod, still unsure of what to say.
“I’ll meet you inside. I’m just going to put the foal away.”
“I’ll do it,” Wells offers. He gives me a near-smile, and it transforms his entire face. I was determined to hate Wells after what happened last night, but it's difficult to hate someone who resembles his older brother so much—a brother I’m pretty fond of.
Sutton climbs over the gate, and I really try not to ogle at the flex of his arms or the way Levi’s fit him even better than the chinos he wore in the city. When he’s on the ground, he reaches for my hand. I can feel the calluses already rising on his palms just from one day back at Silver Ridge. Frankie’s and Wells keep their eyes on us, even as Sutton places a finger under my chin and lifts it up, brushing his lips against mine in a sweet, simple kiss.
There’s that thin mountain air again, making me feel lightheaded.
“Come on, you two,” Frankie says, grabbing my other hand.
We walk, a chain of three links, back to the house .
“Wells sure seemed happier back there,” I say once we reach the back porch.
Frankie giggles. “I think it might have something to do with seeing you two together.”
“Right, because Wells has always been a real Cupid,” Sutton quips.
“I’m sure it’s more about him feeling a bit more confident that you aren’t going to steal his bride within the next two weeks,” Frankie says, holding the back door open for us.
“Speaking of,” I say, “when will I finally get to meet…” My words trail off as I lay my eyes on the woman in the kitchen.
Cassidy.
I assumed she would be the opposite of me, likely because I’m the last person in the world I can imagine Sutton truly liking. Turns out, I wasn’t far off. She’s not blonde like I pictured her. Instead, Cassidy has copper hair that hangs almost to her butt. It’s not vibrant or full-force—no Hayley Williams circa 2008. Rather, it’s so light it’s almost peach. While I’m short and curvy, Cassidy is tall and thin. Her complexion is like printer paper compared to my tawny amber skin, and freckles dot across every inch of her face. Even in our features, we're stark contrasts: she’s a gentle doe with her wide, expansive eyes and button-like nose, while I bear more resemblance to a fox with my slightly upturned and narrower eyes.
It’s hard not to feel self-conscious standing ten feet away from her. Not only because she’s gorgeous, but also because she was Sutton’s first, longest, and possibly only love.
I can’t force myself to look away from Cassidy, but I don’t think she’s even noticed me yet. The second we came through the door, her eyes landed on Sutton and haven’t yet moved. His palm has gone limp in mine, and when I release my grip on it, his arm falls lifelessly at his side. Meanwhile, Frankie tightens her grip around my hand.
“Sutton,” Cassidy exhales, her round lips tilting into a sideways smile. She has the voice of a Disney princess. All at the same time, she approaches Sutton, he approaches her, and Frankie and I step back until we’re in the doorframe.
I’m not sure how long Sutton and Cassidy stand there staring at each other, but eventually, she reaches out for him and draws herself against his chest, wrapping her arms up around him. Sutton stands motionless for a moment, but then he follows her lead, his broad frame towering over her. My mouth goes dry.
Suddenly feeling like I’m intruding, I walk backward off the porch, nearly tripping on the steps, and briskly make my way across the lawn. Frankie is close behind, rambling on about how the hug is surely harmless.
“It’s fine,” I say through a plastered-on smile.
Yeah, it is fine , I remind myself.
“What’s going on?” Wells asks, his grin fading as he reads our expressions.
“Nothing!” Frankie and I say in unison, a bit too quickly.
Wells’ face drops, and his eyes dart over to the cherry-red truck in front of the house. Without another word, he takes off toward the house. I can practically see the steam coming from his ears, Tom and Jerry style.
Frankie and I watch Wells, our feet planted in the grass, too nervous to be right in the action, too engrossed to walk away. Wells gets to the open door, stands in the frame for one short second, and retreats the way he came, slamming the door so hard the glass windowpanes in it shake.
Not long after, Sutton is running out the back door behind him. Our eyes lock for a moment, and he gives me this torn look. He continues forward, catching up to Wells at the far fence. Frankie and I watch, motionless. Even from a distance, the tension sparks, like a lightning storm we’re watching on the horizon.
We can't hear what Sutton says, but everyone in the bunkhouse can probably hear Wells’ response.“You can’t explain your way out of this one. I saw you with her!”
“It was a hug ,” Sutton insists, now almost as loud as his brother, his flaring his fingers at his sides.
“Is that what you call it?” Wells spits back. His words come faster, rambling together. “You know, you can claim that you aren’t hung up on my fiancée, you can bring a new girl to the ranch and parade around like you’re Prince Charming, but that wasn’t a ‘friend’ hug. You’ve had six years to move on, Sutton. It’s over. She. Chose. Me.”
“Yeah, she chose you because I wasn't around anymore. She settled for you.” As soon as he says it, Sutton’s mouth stays open, surprised at his own words.
Frankie audibly gasps.
“I—I didn’t mean that…” Sutton stammers. His words hang in the air like a heavy cloud. I’m stunned, never before hearing Sutton be harsh. I didn’t think he had an ounce of his father in him.
Wells shakes his head in disbelief, his hands balling into fists. “No. She chose me because she was tired of being with a depressed wet blanket.” Wells stomps toward Sutton, and for a moment, I worry that he’ll take a swing. But then, he marches right by, his shoulder crashing against Sutton’s so hard he stumbles back.
For a moment, Sutton does nothing. He just stands, one hand covering his face. Then, he takes off in the opposite direction, around the house. I take a few minutes to collect my thoughts before trailing behind him. Frankie, meanwhile, follows Wells.
As I walk around the back of the house, I hear a steady rhythm. Crack . Pause . Crack. Pause . When I get around the corner, I see Sutton, his back toward me, placing a log atop a cut-off tree trunk. He’s shed his dusty white t-shirt, and as he brings an axe behind him, I can see every defined muscle in his back tighten. Lifting the axe up high, he swings it down on the log, splitting it in half. He continues this for a few minutes, splitting the wood until a small pile has formed at his feet. And I continue watching.
It’s quite pathetic, really, how easy it is to forget what just happened when I’m watching Sutton chop wood. It’s like I’m watching a Calvin Klein ad. A heavy feeling settles in my stomach, and I can’t seem to look away.
There’s a raw intensity to his movements. Each swing of the axe is a release of frustration.
My boots crunch on the ground as I take another step toward Sutton. He must hear it because he pauses, axe in mid-air, and turns to face me. His expression is broken. Vulnerable.
“Laine,” Sutton says, his voice rougher than usual.
My eyes betray me, flitting down to his chest. His front is even more impressive than his back. On his ribcage, just under the muscles of his chest, he has a tattoo of the same symbol that was above the ranch’s main gate, the same symbol branded on the cows. The S with the curved lines above and below it. Silver Ridge Ranch has always been a part of him, and I just didn’t realize that until now.
I take a tentative step closer. “Sutton, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry you had to see that. The hug…it meant nothing.”
“So I’ve heard,” I hum.
“And when Wells was arguing, I said the first thing I could think of to put him in his place. I can’t believe I said that.”
“Me either,” I snort, grabbing the axe from Sutton and leaning it against the tree trunk. “Can you tell me more about you and Cassidy? I’m flying blind here. ”
Sutton sighs, raking both hands through his hair.
Please don’t look at his chest , I ask myself politely.
Too late , I think immediately after.
“You know that Cassidy and I grew up together. We knew each other from preschool and dated all throughout high school.”
“Sure.”
“When I first moved to New York, I thought we would work through it. I planned on moving home for the summers, and I thought she would visit the city here and there during the school year. I thought, at the time, that we were so in love that it had to work out. But Cassidy knew something I didn’t.”
“That flights from Montana to New York City are astronomically expensive?”
“She knew we weren’t in love. Not really. Things were easy between us because it was all we knew, not because we were destined to be together. Shortly after I left, she and Wells started spending more time together. I had no idea, though, until I came home for Duke’s funeral. As soon as I got to the ranch, I found them…you know. Together .”
“No!”
“In my truck.”
I let out a harsh exhale.
“Cassidy tried to patch things up with me. She apparently told Wells that she was making a mistake by being with him. To make matters worse, my father lectured me nonstop the week of the funeral, telling me it was my duty, as the newly appointed eldest son, to take over the ranch. He was scrambling to make sense of everything and make a plan. I didn’t want to be a part of that plan, though. But my dad wouldn’t hear it. He told me that if I was walking out on the family when they needed me most, I would never be welcome back. ”
“Wow,” I whisper. “That’s some serious Days of Our Lives stuff.”
Sutton smiles, then laughs, then sighs. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you about this before?” he asks me, his eyes looking darker than usual.
“Why would I be mad?” I ask. Weirdly jealous? Maybe. “It’s not like we’re actually a couple.”
“Right,” Sutton murmurs, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “I know.”