Nine
NINE
Bea
M y eyes burned from the day of travel as I squinted through the windshield. It had taken over an hour for the car rental employees to hand me a set of keys. Then there was a wreck on I-10, right outside of San Antonio. At this rate, I would probably show up at the ranch around 11 p.m.
To make things worse, it was raining. According to my weather app, it wouldn’t let up until after midnight. Trying to find a ranch entrance on a Texas backroad in the rainy dark was the most infuriating thing I’d ever attempted.
My anxiety was officially off the charts. I’d had an entire evening of aloneness to stew over this rash decision.
Everything I knew about Meadowbrook Ranch was funneled directly through my pleasant childhood memories. Those could be deceiving. For example, the movies I loved as a kid. When I watched them as an adult I wondered…was I on drugs? At nine?
I was worried Meadowbrook was going to be like that.
An automated confirmation email with my booking details, the name Deborah, and phone number to call was delivered to my inbox right after I booked my cabin. Obviously, I called the number when I landed in San Antonio to confirm my stay.
I had held my breath as the phone rang. Would Scribbs pick up? As soon as a raspy male voice answered, I knew it wasn’t him. He was a very friendly man named Jesse.
What was barely brewing inside me as I sat in the airport, boiled at top temperatures now.
Hope.
I wanted to see my old friend. Learning he wasn’t at Meadowbrook would be a cup of ice water on this little getaway.
Can I even get rest and inspiration if he isn’t here?
I shook my head as I had that thought. How ridiculous. Of course I could.
Will I know him when I see him? Will he know me?
The closer I got to the ranch, the hotter, more stressed, and more flustered I felt—sweaty palms, dipping stomach, warm neck, fluttering heart. My body was responding like a hormonal teenager to the possibility of him.
I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. “Farm Road 821! Where are you?”
My maps app told me to turn on a road that did not exist.
The phone buzzed. My mom again. I growled in frustration. If the screen lit up one more time, I was going to roll down the window and toss it into a corn field.
I checked my GPS and decided to turn around. My map rerouted, and a canned British voice directed me to drive into the ditch alongside the road then veer off into oblivion. Of course.
I was not above stopping and asking for directions, but there were no houses, no businesses, no passing cars. There were trees, fences, and rolling fields. That was it. Were there power lines? Did they even get electricity out here?
I turned the Prius around and drove back the way I came. Scanning the darkness around my vehicle, I finally located a turn off, approximately where the GPS had indicated for me to turn before. I stopped at the entrance. The dirt road disappeared into a dark wooded area. There were no signs or markings for Meadowbrook .
A dark, dirt road. Not exactly what I wanted to be driving down in the middle of a rainstorm. But it was the only left hand turn on this entire stretch of abysmal highway. Jesse had said it would be a dirt slash gravel road. I didn’t see any gravel…but in my defense, I couldn’t see much of anything. So it had to be Farm Road 821.
I turned nice and slow. A soft slushy sound started under my tires. Puddles probably. As I accelerated to fifteen mph, the tires completely stopped spinning. Being a Colorado girl used to driving in the snow, I knew I needed to turn the traction control off. I reached to the left and tapped the switch. Gassing it, the RPMs climbed and the Prius moved forward, so I assumed all was well. I leaned over my steering wheel, peering through the rain.
The road didn’t appear to be flooded or anything.
I kept my slow momentum for a minute until the trees obscured the main road behind me, despite the red flags raising left and right.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
As my gut tried to alert me that I'd made a mistake, my brain dug in its heels. I had concluded, for better or worse, this road was in fact Farm Road 821. I was exhausted and out of other options, so my good common sense could suck it.
I continued on for another few feet until I heard and felt a terrifying floomp , as my front tires sunk downward.
Panic gripped my throat and immediate heat stung my eyes.
“No, no, no ! This cannot be happening!”
My phone buzzed.
“Not right now, Mom!” I scolded without even confirming her name on the screen.
I threw the Prius in reverse. Tires frantically spun and a loud whirrrr joined the cacophony of the pounding rain.
My head dropped to the steering wheel. “This cannot be happening!”
Repeatedly putting the car into forward then reverse and spinning tires for five minutes straight did nothing but make the situation worse. The forward tilt grew noticeable. The rear end now higher than the front.
I picked up my phone and called that number—the nice Jesse guy .
Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.
Hot sticky red erupted over my face. I glanced at the clock. It was 10:48 p.m.
The ringing abruptly stopped and faint background noise filled the line. Relief flooded my chest. “Thank goodness, Jesse?”
But a canned woman’s voice answered. “Hello, you’ve reached Meadowbrook Ranch. We are not able to come to the phone right now?—”
“ Argh! Voice mail!?” I jammed my thumb on the disconnect button. Light reflected off the downpour and water beat the windows. I stared into space, letting the sound and the horror of this situation fully register. It was raining cats and dogs. I hated that expression, but it was accurate. I imagined small animals hitting my windshield would sound similar.
My wipers were full speed but I couldn’t see past the hood.
I tried the ranch phone again.
“Hello you’ve reached Meadowbrook Ranch?—”
I hung up and slapped my phone onto the console. Out loud, alone in the car, I berated Meadowbrook Ranch.
As I sat, filing through my options, the phone buzzed. A Texas number.
Relieved Jesse was calling me back, I rushed to pick it up, my voice hurried and breathless.
“Hello?”
“I’m callin’ for a Ms. Thompson. Is this her?”
I sucked in a breath.
The voice launched my memory into the past. It was him, as surely as my heart was beating.
A shiver passed over me at the uncanny moment of recognition and emotion gripped my throat. Maybe someone else wouldn’t recognize a voice from so long ago. But my brain loved sounds—craved and categorized them. Something about tone in all its forms demanded my attention.
I groped around for my voice. “Y—yes. This is Bea Thompson.”
My brain was malfunctioning, completely ensnared on one thing: he’s still at Meadowbrook. I wanted to squeal with excitement and faint with nerves.
“I’m callin’ from Meadowbrook. Wanted to check in on you ‘cause I kind of figured you’d be here already based on what Jesse said. It’s gettin’ late.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m—I’m lost.”
“Where are you? Try to explain it and maybe I can walk you through gettin’ here.”
“I don’t, uhm, I don’t”— think, Bea —“actually know. I passed Comfort a while back.”
“Alright.” He clicked his tongue. “If you passed Comfort you should be just ‘round the corner, assumin’ you came in the right way.”
“Um. I don’t know how to say this…” Before I could find a better way to break the news, I blurted. “I’m stuck.”
“I’ll try to help you navigate. Sometimes the maps are?—”
“No. I mean, my car is physically stuck in deep, thick mud that feels like chocolate pudding.”
The cuss word was distant, like he’d moved the phone away as he said it. “Where?”
It all came out in a rush of hot, disgusting humiliation. “I am on what I thought was Farm Road 821. But, as it turns out, it’s not. Or at least I don’t think it is. I keep trying to back out, but my tires are just spinning and spinning and I don’t really know what to do. I was thinking about walking but I can’t even see out my windows.”
“Whoa, whoa. Slow way down, ma’am. We’ll get it figured out.”
The build-up of this moment made me feel emotionally shaky. “I could just spend the night here and you could get me in the morning.”
“Spend the night in your car?”
“Yeah?”
“No guest of Meadowbrook is spendin’ the night on the side of the road. Just let me get my rain jacket, and I’m comin’ to get you, alright?”
My voice wobbled. “I feel awful! I’m so sorry! I can totally find a bear and ask him to eat me.”
The motion on the other line stopped. There was a slight laugh. “I’m sorry—what? ”
“I was offering to march into the woods and just rid you of the problem.”
Quiet laughter almost made my humiliation worth it. “Uh, that won’t be necessary.”
“Surely, there are bears in these woods.”
“Nope.” Keys jangled. Another quiet laugh. “You know what, before I waste my time…maybe I should confirm. You’re in Texas , right?”
“I think so?”
“Back up a little then and tell me what direction you drove through Comfort.”
I explained my journey as best I could.
“I know exactly where you are.” He must’ve stepped onto a covered porch or something because I heard the tinny, echoing sound of rain on his end. “Our neighbor's property. And the mud situation is worse than it looks. The only truck I got that can get back there to pull you out is at the shop in Comfort. I can’t pick it up til ‘bout seven tomorrow morning.” He sighed. “I won’t be able to get your car out tonight.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m gonna come pick you up, but we have to leave your car for mornin’.”
I remembered the nude heels I’d kicked into the floorboard and mentally slapped myself. It wasn’t a long walk until you added in torrential rain, mud, a slim fitted skirt, a thin baby blue blouse, and heels . Why did I put my suitcase in the trunk and not the backseat?
“Alright. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.” He hung up.
I glanced through the back window and squinted toward the road. So far away. Tromping through the mud and rain looking like the CFO of Microsoft wasn’t in my plan for the evening.
I shoved my wallet, keys, and phone into my tiny purse, zipped it tight, and positioned the strap around my neck and across my chest so there would be no chance of dropping it. My travel cardigan lay wadded in the passenger’s seat. I canopied it over my shoulders in a ready-to-launch position.
My legs bounced with nervous energy. I was about to see him. My heart didn’t know what to feel. Even though I knew my hair was about to get doused, I checked it in the rearview mirror. Looked okay, I guessed.
Headlights flashed through my back window.
Breathe. Try to breathe.
My phone rang.
“Hey.” I said.
“You’re really tucked in there. I can barely see you. What’re you drivin’?”
“A Prius.”
There was silence over the line. A suppressed laugh. “Did—did you just say a Prius ?”
“Yeah.”
His “alright” was strained. “You good with walkin’ out?”
“Are there other options?”
“Not really. Do you need help?”
“No. I got it.” I double-checked my purse zipper, lifted the cardigan over my head, threw open my door with feigned courage, and charged into the downpour. Expensive shoes be damned.
Water pelted me in the face. The cool droplets shocked my system and I sucked in a breath, effectively filling my mouth with rain. A garbled shriek escaped my mouth as I began my journey.
My long, slow journey.
Thick mud clung to my every step, my three-inch heels instantly disappearing into the soggy ground. Water blurred my vision. In a matter of mere seconds, I was drenched to the bone. The cardigan turned into a heavy water reservoir over my head, the sleeves batting me in my face as I ran—utterly useless against the monsoon. I picked up my pace, jerking my feet out of the mud. I lost one of my heels. The wet Texas earth pulled it clean off my foot.
Did I turn back to get it?
Hell no.
I kept going and lost the other one too.
I heard Scribbs’ voice and saw his shadow pass through the headlights. He reached out to grab my arm and yelled, “Come on! ”
When I felt the nightmare was almost over, I slipped like a big klutz.
Right in front of my long lost friend.
“Oh shit!” He lurched forward to grab me, but it was too late. My feet flew out from under me and I hit the ground with flailing arms.
To clarify, I entered the ground with flailing arms.
Mud filled my ear, clung to my hair, and coated the entire left side of my body. Globs plastered over my eye, leaked into my mouth, and covered my shirt.
I lay on the ground in total shock. I could see Scribbs through my one eye squinting open. This was it. The epitome of all humiliation. I was living the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.
Tears warmed my eyes, which only served to draw mud into the left one. It stung. My chest tightened with emotion as I thought about my cozy bed in Colorado and how much I’d like to be in it right now.
A clap of thunder was the icing on the cake.
Scribbs leaned over me. An orange raincoat wrapped his frame, hood over his head. His hands grabbed mine, lifting me up. He gripped my upper arm and pulled me so quickly I staggered after him.
We were about thirty feet from the truck when I fell again. This time to my hands and knees, minus the one Scribbs had in a death grip.
The sound was soft at first, but as he dragged me up, I could hear it better.
Laughter.
He was laughing at me. His shoulders shook as he pulled me the last steps to the truck. He jerked the passenger door open, grabbed my waist, and practically threw me inside. My eyes watered as I tried to situate myself in the seat. I could barely open either one.
How come I was about to take a short drive with the hayloft cowboy, and I legit couldn’t even see him?
I wanted to laugh too, but I cried instead. I couldn’t help it.
Scribbs got in and quietly sat for a moment before shifting his whole body to look at me. A very small noise—like a choking sound—came from him. “Are you alright? What”—quiet laughter—“what can I do to help you right now? ”
Clumps of mud inched from the ends of my hair and down my neck, moving beneath my collar and dripping between my breasts. I squirmed, despising the feel of wet earth caked between my toes. “Do you have anything to wipe the mud out of my eyes?”
I felt his frantic movement as he searched the truck for something. “I—I have, uh…” Soft rifling in the backseat. “Shoot. I just cleaned this thing out.” He finally held out a bandana. I blindly reached for it and a blob of dirt plopped on the console.
Scribbs lost control, his laughter leaking out. “Forget it, I got it! I got it!” He scraped the bandana against my eyelid. “You are—covered. This bandana probably smells awful.” He sucked a breath in. “Is that better?”
“No?” I felt a twinge in my chest as crazy feelings blended together. A shake of laughter amid this catastrophe. “Do you have anything else?”
“Not really.”
“How about your shirt?”
“My shirt ?”
“Your pants then!”
I forced my eyes open just long enough to see his forehead connect with the steering wheel, and his shoulders shake in another fit of silent laughter.
Panicked by the sting, my voice rose. “I’d literally use a dirty sock! Anything! Please!”
There was a quick unzip, a whip of fabric, more movement. “Fine, just take this.” His inhale wheezed. “Here.”
A bundle of material hit my chest. It was body warm and smelled like hay, sweat, and fabric softener—a t-shirt. I buried my face and scrubbed mud away. There was a hint of spice. Like he’d applied soap or deodorant hours ago. Smelled kind of good, honestly.
No amount of snowballing humiliation could tamp down my desire to do the thing I’d dreamed of doing since I was eleven years old. For the first time, I’d get to see him— really see him. Completely unobscured by moonlit shadows. I’d no longer be forced to stitch one midnight memory with countless letters.
I slowly opened my stinging eyes .
He sat there, watching me, wide-eyed. So many things hit my brain at once.
His hair was a sloppy, curly mess. Ash brown with sun streaks.
He wore a rain jacket, unzipped, with nothing underneath.
His body folded into his seat, long and lean. But he’d bulked up. The thin boy had given way to a tall, muscled, hard-working man. A shadow of abs peeked through from beneath his jacket.
His eyes were green or maybe hazel. The yellow cab light made it hard to tell.
His fist was pressed against his lips, still trying to hold bursts of laughter in.
There was nothing movie star quality about him. He wasn’t a cowboy you’d see on the front of a smutty romance novel. Just a perfectly normal dude doing his best not to laugh at the city slicker.
My heart spiraled and warmed, a lump of emotions lodging in my chest. A smile threatened to spread across my face, but I held it back.
Scribbs .
He was perfect. The flashes of memory all clanged into place as I looked. His face and aura fit who I’d always known him to be.
The urge to blurt “Hey! It’s Strings!” and fling my muddy self into his embrace warred within me.
A few seconds ticked by as we stared at each other. The muted sound of rain on the windshield, the blowing air conditioning, and our ragged breaths were the only sounds. Eventually, my throat choked out some words. “I am so sorry.”
He nodded, silently swiping a hand through his damp hair. As laughter and disbelief danced in his eyes, embarrassment swelled in my heart. Leave it to me to make a wildly idiotic first impression.
I suddenly whipped my head around the truck, sending specks of mud flying off the end of my ponytail. “Did you grab my cardigan?!”
“A…cardigan?”
“A sweater.”
“Oh, uh, no.”
“I must’ve dropped it.” We both looked out the front window as the gravity of the situation set on me. “I don’t have anything. Nothing to change into. Why didn’t I grab my suitcase from the trunk? ”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think you would’a made it with a suitcase. Do you”—his hesitation spoke volumes—“want me to go get it?” His offer rose in pitch and uncertainty.
“No, I would never expect someone to do that.”
That wasn’t true. I was completely banking on him to be a valiant gentleman and fetch it despite my feeble protesting. But no. He threw the truck in reverse and backed out, stealing the opportunity for me to wade through the mud for my face cleanser and clean panties.
My shoulder hit the window, leaving a mud smear, as the truck bonked back onto the road. “Are there extra toiletries at the ranch?”
“No.”
“Most accommodations offer that kind of stuff.”
“We don’t.” He shrugged. “You can use mine though.”
“I’m guessing you probably don’t have extra clothes?”
He tossed me a sideways glance. “Nothin’ that’ll fit you, but I got a t-shirt and some sweats you could use ‘til morning. Me and Jesse’ll get out here nice and early so you won’t have to wait on your things. We’ll get your clothes washed, too. That sound alright?”
“Yes. That’ll be fine.”
An awkward beat of silence fell and all my thoughts started catching up. How many ways was I going to put him out? The list was growing by the second. “I apologize for inconveniencing you. I got here so late, ruined your evening, messed up the inside of your truck. I?—”
He shrugged again. “Part of ranch living. Crap’s always happenin’ around here.”
If he was trying to make me feel better, it only kind of worked.