21. Laine
21
LAINE
My boots crunch against the rocks along the worn dirt trail. It’s nearly midday, and the sun is warm against my face. I’ve been walking for at least ten minutes by now, so I pull Sutton’s note from the pocket of my coveralls, to be sure I read it right.
We’re going to work on prepping the wedding location today. You are welcome to join if you like and if you aren’t too busy with work. Take the trail directly west of the house and you’ll find us.
At the bottom of the paper, Sutton continued,
I hope you sleep well.
That last bit is in pencil while the rest is in pen, so he must have added it later—probably when he realized I was sleeping in late for the first time since arriving in West River. He didn’t sign the paper. He didn’t need to. I spent months studying Sutton’s Shakespeare notes and reading his feedback on essay drafts. I trace my fingers across the handwriting, smiling down at it. It’s only been a couple weeks since our last tutoring session, four months since we first met, yet it feels like I’ve known him for a lifetime.
Wrestling with my thoughts last night, I forgot to plug my phone in to charge. When Sutton got up, presumably much earlier than me, he closed the curtains and even left a glass of water on my bedside table, along with the note. I slept in hours later than expected because, thanks to my overthinking, I didn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning. After I eventually woke up, I returned my parents’ calls, leaving out some details from my recap, like the tandem mechanical bull riding and the night we went line dancing.
Those evenings probably sounded harmless.
But they definitely didn’t feel that way.
After a few more minutes of walking on the trail, I hear the whirring of a lawnmower. As I reach the top of the next hill, another small pocket of the valley opens up. I slow to a stop and let out a small gasp, awestruck.
At the front edge of the clearing, emerald grass flutters in the breeze. Halfway through the small valley, a vast stretch of lavender fans out, a canvas of vibrant purple that extends all the way to the next hill. The lavender sways, a slow sea of waving color. And the smell . It’s nothing like the artificial version I’ve experienced in detergent and cheap candles. Like most everything at Silver Ridge Ranch, it’s pure and raw and real.
The entire family works together. Frankie and Sutton unload long benches from a flatbed trailer under Magnolia’s direction. Wells trims the white-blossomed trees on the outskirts of the grassy area. And Hank tuts along the back edge of the grass on the lawnmower.
There's something incredibly serene about this moment, about the way the family works together. It's as if the ranch itself is alive, its heart beating with the labor of those who care for it. Had I not already known about the strife between Sutton, Hank, and Wells, I never would guess it looking out at them now.
I gravitate to the lavender field, drawn by an irresistible curiosity. With each step, the sweet scent of lavender becomes more pronounced, wrapping around me. Bees flit from flower to flower. The clouds above are so perfectly white and fluffy they look like they belong in a Pixar movie. I’m not sure how long I stand there, entranced, before I hear a voice behind me.
“What d’ya think?” Wells comes to my side, hands on his sides as he watches the lavender shift in the breeze. His pale eyes take on their purple tone, turning periwinkle. Seeing his content smile, it’s hard to remember the harsh, tense Wells I’ve come to know.
“I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve laid my eyes on.” My voice is as soft as the rustling leaves in the tree overhead. “Are there a lot of fields like this on the ranch?”
“This is the only one. I planted it five years ago.”
“I didn’t imagine you as a big floral kind of guy,” I say.
A layer of dirt constantly covers Wells. He’s loud and tough and, considering what Sutton told me, was quite the rebel for a while. He’s the last person in the family I can imagine planting flowers.
“Do cows like lavender or something?” I ask.
One corner of Wells’ mouth twitches. “Yes, actually. Apparently it can be good for their digestion when added into their feed. That’s what I told my dad when I asked him if I could plant lavender here. But that’s not really why I did it. ”
“I guess even tough cowboys have a soft spot for flowers,” I remark with a playful grin.
"Well, don't go spreading that around too much. I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” he replies, his voice shaded by mock seriousness. Then he sighs contently. “Lavender is Cassidy’s favorite flower.”
“And you planted an entire field of it for her? That’s quite the gesture, Romeo.”
Wells hesitates for a moment, his gaze shifting back to the lavender. “Five years ago, I realized that I loved Cass. It wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t to mess with Sutton. It was just…love. Not only that, but I knew I wanted to marry her. I planted this lavender hoping someday she would want to marry me too, and then we would have the perfect place to seal the deal. Plus, no matter how much we might butt heads or how hard it gets, I wanted to have something beautiful to offer her.”
His words sink in, and for a moment, the last bits of Wells’ tough exterior crumble away, revealing a vulnerability that surprises me. He’s more like Sutton than I could have dreamed.
“Five years ago? But you just got engaged last month, didn’t you?” I ask.
Wells chuckles softly, a rueful smile touching his lips. “Yeah. But sometimes it takes a while for things to fall into place. The ranch has had…its challenges. Especially the past few months.”
I raise my eyebrows, but Wells just answers my unspoken curiosity with a shrug.
“And besides that, even after I knew I loved Cass, I didn’t really want to love her. I mean, she’s my older brother’s ex, after all. No matter what Sutton might think, it wasn’t intentional. But it was no use. I was hers before I realized it.”
We stand there silent for a few minutes, and a feeling of completeness settles in. Wells was the last one in the Davis family I’ve connected to. The puzzle pieces have fallen into place.
Wells and Hank leave after a couple of hours, running to town for some kind of appointment. Later, as the sultry afternoon is just beginning to cool, Magnolia shouts my name. Even from halfway across the clearing, I can see her brilliant smile. Sutton is at her side, and it takes everything in me to not jog the distance between us just to get there a few seconds faster.
As soon as I’m close enough, Magnolia reaches out and holds one of my hands. Then, she uses her free hand to grab Sutton’s. Her blonde hair looks even lighter in the sun. She’s practically glowing. “I have a little surprise for you two,” she says, her eyes crinkling with a grin. “Frankie helped too.”
“What occasion?” Sutton asks, his tone tinged with lighthearted suspicion.
Magnolia shrugs. “Graduation, welcome home, late or early birthday, whatever. Frankie and I set up your surprise at the lake. I know you’re probably starving, but don’t eat before you go. Head home, get cleaned up, and have fun .”
My stomach turns with anticipation 0f an evening alone with Sutton.
His eyes meet mine, and I can tell he’s just as anxious about the surprise. “Thanks, Mom,” he says, plastering on a smile.
Once we’re back at the house, I do an everything shower—exfoliating, shaving, the works. I take my time brushing my teeth and flossing. I’m not sure why, though. I remind myself that we won’t be romantic when his family isn’t around to see it .
Because Sutton told me that we’ll have to go on horseback, I dress in my best “cowgirl” outfit: Wrangler jeans, a thin, white button-up, a bandana tied around my neck, and of course, my boots to top it off.
“Look at you, Annie Oakley,” Sutton says when I meet him at the fence outside, as if he’s one to talk in his own cowboy hat and boots. Already, he has our two horses ready to go. “You remember what I taught you about riding?”
I nod and swallow the dryness in my throat away. Have the horses always been so big ?
Sutton, as always, interprets my expression. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be right here with you. And Darla here is a sweetheart.”
“Hey, Darla,” I croak out as I climb over the fence. As soon as I’m over, Sutton straps a helmet on me. I almost protest because I haven’t seen anyone on the ranch wear a helmet while riding. But I look back up at Darla’s height and tighten my lips.
“Put your foot in the stirrup here, hands up on the saddle horn, and step down hard, like you’re trying to push it down. I’ll help.” Keeping his promise, Sutton stands directly behind me, his hands already on my hips. The nervous drumming in my chest beats harder.
“You realize I’m five-foot-six, don’t you?” I say, clumsily poking the toe of my boot into the stirrup.
“We average out to five-eleven, so it’s fine,” Sutton says, his fingers tightening on me.
After three slow, steadying breaths, I put all of my power into pressing down on the stirrup. Sutton’s hands move ever so slightly lower, cupping under my hips so he can help hoist me up as smoothly as possible. Miraculously, it works, and before I know it, I’m on Darla’s back, the ground looking impossibly far away.
“You alright?” Sutton asks, one hand still on my leg. It feels like sparks travel out from his fingertips, as if he’s harnessing lightning.
Trying to think of anything to say to distract myself from my anxiousness, I say, “I think this was all an elaborate ruse so you could touch me like that.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yes, Laine. My mother created an elaborate plan for us to go on this date solely so I could touch your ass. You caught us.”
After some more instructions from Sutton, we’re on our way along the trail. The steady sound of hooves striking the ground creates a soothing backdrop for the rustling leaves and occasional birdsong. With Sutton right at my side, and behind me when the trail narrows, I feel more at ease atop Darla. Sutton has always been a comforting reassurance, whether it was convincing me I would ace an exam or checking over my resume as many times as I asked, or now, simply being here for me as I tackle my nerves.
Remembering the story of Duke’s passing, I spend most of the ride with my eyes on the ground, looking for any snakes or small animals that could spook Darla or any big rocks she might stumble on. As we venture deeper into the woods, the surroundings make subtle changes, and I look up occasionally to bask in the beauty. The trees grow taller and denser, casting dappled shadows on the trail.
Cool air carries the smell of pine and, after about forty minutes, the sound of lapping water. The throb of anxiety in my chest is back full force. Darla was an unexpectedly welcome diversion, but soon I’ll be on solid ground again with nothing to distract me from the fact that—lately—my entire body feels more alive when Sutton comes near.
We break through the trees and there, surrounded by vibrant wildflowers, is a mountain lake. As we near it, I see that its surface is so clear I can look past the reflected foliage of the trees and the impossibly blue sky and see all the way to the bottom of the lake. There, colorful rocks and pebbles create a mosaic of blues, greens, and reds, distorted by the soft ripples in the water.
I’m speechless. I love the city, but this? How did Sutton ever leave?
Sutton dismounts his horse and reaches up to help me down from Darla's saddle. The thought of coming down is somehow even scarier than the climb up, though, so he practically pulls me to him in a big bear hug, my body held tight to his. My legs wobble slightly as they touch the ground, re-acclimatizing to the stable ground.
Sutton's hand lingers on my arm for a moment, supporting me. “Welcome to our little paradise,” he says with a grin.
“It's incredible,” I whisper as if I’m in a church.
“We—mostly I—would come here sometimes to get away from everything.”
The tranquility of this place is overwhelming. The gentle flow of the water against the rocky shore, the hum of insects, and the swaying of the trees. It’s almost too beautiful to bear.
“What’s on our docket for the night?” I ask, my mind reeling from the possibilities here, things I could never do in the city. A quiet swim, stargazing—I don’t know—feeding chipmunks? I wonder if they’re as ravenous as the pigeons I’m familiar with.
“I’m sure my mom and sister gave us options,” Sutton says. He nods to the far corner of the lake, to our surprise.