Chapter 20 #2
I grin when I see the name. Last night, we decided to change our contact names in each other’s phones, so in case anyone sees a text, they won’t know who it is.
Ben Thrustin
How are you doing this morning?
Good, you?
Ben Thrustin
Tired, but it was worth it.
Agreed.
“Lark!” Momma calls, and I drop the phone in the sink.
“Shit,” I whisper-yell, then call, “I’ll be down in a minute!”
I have stuff to do today. I’ll text you when I know a time.
Ben Thrustin
Sounds good. Talk to you later, Jenna Talia.
I laugh, remembering the name I picked for myself.
Sounds good, Mr. Thrustin.
I put the phone in my back pocket, pull my hair into a ponytail, and head downstairs, where my mother is standing with her purse on her shoulder at the door and a to-go coffee cup in her hand.
This is going to be so fun.
We head thirty minutes down to a neighboring town, where there are a few more options for stores.
Of course, she doesn’t want to go to the big box stores, because that’s where the ugly things are. Instead, we’re at a boutique store where the clothes are not just ugly, they’re horrific. Utterly unwearable.
“This one is just lovely,” Momma says, pulling out something that not even a nun would wear. It’s floor length with patches of different quilt-like patterns on it. There’s a high neckline—like all the way up to her chin—and the sleeves are…puffy.
God, it’s hideous.
“It’s…something.”
That’s all I can muster.
She holds it up to her neck, looking in the mirror, which I swear is warped, creating one of those fun house reflections so that when you look in it, you have to kind of squint and hold your head tilted to the side to maybe look somewhat normal.
My mother turns to me, holding it up. “You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it, Momma. I just think there are much better options in other stores.”
When I look at old photos of my mother, it takes my breath away.
She has always been beautiful, but when she was in her youth, she was a knockout.
Her long brown hair, the same shade as mine and straight as an arrow, hung to her lower back, and her bright green eyes shone, even in an old photograph.
There was always a smile on her face and a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
I don’t know when that light died out a little—probably when Maverick left.
It broke her heart the day my brother packed his things and walked out of the house. I think it damaged a part of her that she will never recover from, and I would like nothing more than to beat the shit out of him for it.
Since then, she’s just let herself wilt away.
No matter how much my brothers, my father, and I have tried to keep her blooming.
She puts on a great front, always pretending that she’s just fine, but I see it.
“I don’t know, Lark.” She turns back to the terrible mirror.
“Momma, what if we just go look? We can try a few new places, and I’ll guarantee this dress will still be here if you don’t find something else.” I’d bet this dress has been here since 1945.
I can see her hesitation as she looks at the hanger and then to me. “I’m not sure we’ll find anything.”
“I’m not, either, but we can make a day of it. How about we go get lunch? We can get mani-pedis and just have some fun. A girls’ day.”
She clears her throat. “I have to make dinner.”
I grin. “Momma, those boys are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. I promise, they’ll survive without dinner.”
Her smile grows and she nods. “All right. One night won’t kill them.”
“No, it won’t.”
I grab my phone out of my back pocket and text Ryan.
I’m taking Momma out for the rest of the day. You’re on your own for dinner.
Ryan
Good. She needs it.
I smile, liking my brother just a little more today.
I agree. See you guys later tonight.
After our mani-pedis, where I convinced her to get purple on her toes, we head to the first store.
Once there, she hems and haws about the selection, but at the second location, her mood shifts.
She agrees to try a few things on, and she’s even able to say some slightly complimentary things about the options.
We don’t buy anything, but it’s progress.
“You really liked that last one?” she asks, looping her arm through mine.
“I did. You looked beautiful in the violet dress.”
Heading down the promenade, ready to go into a store that’s probably pushing my mother’s style choices a little, I hear a voice call my name.
“Lark!”
I turn—my mother, too—to see Sadie Stone waving, her other hand in her father’s. Tristan looks incredible in his jeans, plain white T-shirt, and hat dipped low, covering his eyes.
Oh God, he looks so damn hot.
Play it cool, Lark. It doesn’t matter that he was literally inside you a few hours ago.
Sadie releases his hand and comes rushing toward me. When she gets in front of me, she stops, her smile wide.
“Hey, Sadie,” I say with a grin.
“Lark, I have to tell you, the chickens really love the upgrades in the coop.”
My mother clears her throat. I don’t know if she’s ever met Sadie. This should be interesting.
“That’s amazing. Like I said, happy chickens mean lots of eggs.” I pull my mother forward just a little. “This is my mom. Mom, this is Sadie Stone.” Just as I finish, Tristan arrives. “And you know Tristan.”
My mother, who has never been unkind in her life, plasters on a big smile and looks down at Sadie. “Hello, Sadie. You look just like your momma.”
“You knew my mom?”
Momma nods. “I did. She was a beautiful woman.”
Tristan places his hands on Sadie’s shoulders. “Sorry to bother you both, Mrs. Gatlin.” He nods, tipping his cowboy hat to her. “Sadie saw Lark and was excited to tell her about the chickens.”
I force a smile. “It’s no trouble. Momma and I are just doing some shopping.”
I try not to look in his eyes. To not let my cheeks heat as I remember the intense sexual things we did just a few hours ago.
But, oh, God, I see right through those clothes and remember the feel of his body. The way his muscles moved beneath my fingers as he pushed inside me.
All of it comes back like a flood, and I’m going to drown if I don’t run away.
Sadie speaks, breaking the awkwardness. “We put in new floors, and wallpaper. I hung picture frames, and we’ll be naming a chicken of the week. I was going to do it by the month, but I thought weekly would be better. It’s a very big honor to be named.”
I laugh softly. “I see. You’ll have to let me know if that improves the chickens’ morale. I’m sure my mother and I would love to make some improvements to our girls’ living conditions if it helps.”
She nods enthusiastically. “If you meet me by the fence in four days, I can let you know.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I tell Sadie.
Tristan sighs heavily. “Well, we won’t be keeping you ladies any longer. Sadie needed some new clothes for a camp that starts in a few weeks.”
“And which camp are you going to?” Momma asks Sadie.
“Not a horse camp. Even though that’s what I really wanted.” Her eyes narrow as she stares up at her father. Clearly that is a source of contention. “I’m going to one in Arizona where we spend a lot of time swimming.”
“That sounds fun.” I try to sound upbeat. Although I would’ve flipped my shit if my parents made me do that instead of horse camp.
My most favorite summers were when I got to ride for hours each day.
“Yeah, it’s not,” Sadie huffs. “It’s boring and all my friends are going to horse camps because their dads aren’t lame.”
I laugh. I try hard not to, but I fail.
Tristan mutters under his breath. “All right, well, lame as I am, we’d better go. Mrs. Gatlin.” Tristan tips his hat again before turning to me. “Lark.”
“Bye, guys.”
“Goodbye,” Momma says and then we turn, and I use every ounce of restraint not to look back. “Well. That was unexpected.”
“It was.”
“Lark, when exactly are you spending time talking to Sadie?”
Shit. I should’ve known that would be an issue. “I was out at the property line, checking the fences, and she was there, in tears, holding one of her chickens.”
She sighs heavily. “That poor girl. I never understood what Emmy Jo saw in that man, but I know Sadie wouldn’t be out there talking to chickens if she were alive.”
Considering I have two very alive parents and I go out and talk to my chickens, I’m going to say that’s a dumb statement. However, if I start defending Tristan or any member of the Stone family, I’m opening myself up to a whole lot of issues.
I already stepped into that minefield once.
“Sadie is a sweet girl.”
“Her father leaves something to be desired,” Momma notes.
“I thought Tristan was perfectly polite.”
Yeah, I’m doing a bang-up job not defending him.
“Sure, he was polite in front of his daughter, but how polite can you be when you’re destroying things on someone else’s property?”
I could argue—again—how I don’t think they’re doing anything, but it’s futile.
My family have dug their heels in, and it’ll take catching someone on camera before they change their tune—and my brothers should be installing cameras today.
The police department offered us free wireless cameras to install at our discretion.
My hope is it finally puts this damn thing to rest, because it’s exhausting.
I sigh, tuck her hand into the crook of my elbow, and smile. “If anyone at Heartstone Ranch is doing it, I don’t think it’s Tristan.”
“And why is that?”
Because he told me it’s not him, and I believe him.
Because he’s just not that way.
Because even if he is, I don’t think it would stop me from going to him tonight.
“I don’t know, Momma. I just don’t.”