Country Nights Page 6

  “He came back from Afghanistan a few years back with a Bronze Star. Saved his whole troop from some suicide bomber. There was this big article about him, and he was even interviewed by Matt Lauer on The Today Show,” Karly says, a proud beam covering her face as if to suggest he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Bonesteel Creek.

  “He’s basically famous around here,” Katie adds. “A real hometown hero.”

  I catch Seth glancing my way again, and my cheeks warm from the undeniable attention.

  Seth-the-bar-owner suddenly got a whole lot hotter—as if that was even possible.

  “We need another round.” Karly slides out of our booth, eyeing the bar.

  “You should bring Leighton and maybe they’ll be free again,” Katie yells, her hands cupped around her mouth as the jukebox blares a Def Leopard tune. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dancing on the table by the time we get back.

  Pushing our way to the bar, we squeeze between a couple of middle-aged men and order another round of tequila shots, only this time Seth’s nowhere in sight and the bartender charges us twenty bucks.

  Carefully hauling the drinks back to our booth, I scan the room for Seth again and come up empty-handed.

  Focusing on my old friends, I toss my shot back, throw a smile on my face, and catch up on the last twelve years of Bonesteel Creek happenings. An hour passes, then another, and another. I’m nursing a water and waiting for my buzz to wear off when the girls start calling it a night and heading home one by one.

  “You heading home soon?” Karly asks. “Wait, where are you staying? I didn’t even ask.”

  “I’m staying at my old house,” I say. “Believe it or not.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “How’d you pull that off?”

  “Long story.” I bring my water to my lips and take one last look around. Seth disappeared hours ago.

  The attention, the thrill, the anticipation … it was fun while it lasted.

  Karly tucks her wavy blonde hair behind her ear and checks her phone. “Hate to leave you here all alone, but I should probably go. Got to be up early tomorrow for this family thing.”

  “Go. It’s fine. I’m leaving too.”

  “Where’d you park?” she asks.

  “In the alley. You?”

  “I walked,” she says. “I live two blocks west. You going to be around much longer?”

  I shrug. “I don’t think so. A week maybe?”

  Karly’s lips tighten into a frown. “Well, let’s get together again before you go. Maybe someplace less … crazy.”

  The house lights flicker, a sign that closing time is upon us.

  “I’d like that.” I lean in for a hug, inhaling the scent of her familiar perfume. It takes me back to high school, to Friday night football games, stealing her parents’ car, and Saturday night sleepovers that turned into Sunday morning pancake breakfasts. “I’ve missed you, Karly.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” she says as we walk outside. “It sucked when you left. Didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

  I tuck my head. “I know. It was … rough.”

  “How’s your family doing?”

  It’s quiet out here on the sidewalk. The streets are vacant save for a few parked cars, and two flickering streetlamps light our way. This town is full of a whole lot of nothing, and yet it’s everything I remember it to be.

  It’s home.

  And you can’t pick your home any more than you can pick your family.

  “Aubrey’s great,” I say. “She married this guy, Adam, a couple months ago. Super nice. Silicon Valley executive with four kids. They’re living in the San Francisco area.”

  “And how’s your brother?”

  “Jackson’s doing well. He’s a senior at Notre Dame. Plays football there on a scholarship. I don’t see him too often, but we talk once in a while. He’s happy,” I say. “At least he says he is.”

  “And your mom?” Of course she saved the best for last. “I miss her so much. She was always like a second mother to me.”

  “She’s fine,” I lie, forcing a smile. “I’ll tell her you said so. I’m sure it’ll make her day.”

  If she even remembers Karly …

  “Oh, hey, let me give you my number,” she says, taking my phone and programming herself into my contacts. “Call me next week and we’ll get together before you go.”

  I nod, taking my phone back, and Karly gives me a wave before heading down the street. She disappears under a canopy of shade trees and a starless sky, and I make my way down the alley to find my rental.

  Fishing inside my clutch, a wave of panic washes through me when I don’t feel the sharp metal scrape of my keys at the bottom.

  They must have fallen out.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Trotting through the alley and around the corner, I head for the front door of the bar only to find it’s now locked, and the flashing neon “Open” sign is officially extinguished.

  Pounding on the door, I press my face to the glass window to see if anyone’s still inside.

  The bartender looks up—thank God—and rests his broom against a wall before taking his sweet time coming my way.

  “I think I dropped my keys inside,” I say when he finally unlocks the door.

  He exhales, stepping out of the way as I burst inside and search the place like a detective at a crime scene. Nothing but spilled puddles of beer and smashed mozzarella sticks litter the floor.

  “Do you have a Lost and Found?” I ask. I’ve been here for hours, and there’s a chance someone may have found them and turned them in earlier in the evening.

  “Check with Seth.” The bartender eyes the red door in the back of the place.

  Pulling my shoulders back and sucking up my pride, I make my way to Seth’s office, knocking three times and waiting with my arms folded. I wish I weren’t feeling so defensive right now, but to be so sweet and charming and then to pull some disappearing act is shitty, and I don’t have time for games.

  I knock again.

  Nothing.

  He’s not even here.

  And now I’m stranded.

  I’m making my way back to the bartender when the back door to the bar swings.

  Seth stops when he sees me standing in the middle of his empty bar, and then his full mouth curls into a slow smile like he’s happy to see me.

  I will myself not to fall for it, glancing away from the heat of his shameless stare.

  “Leighton,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “Everything okay?”

  “She lost her keys,” the bartender says. “Anyone turn a set of keys in tonight?”

  “Yeah, actually,” he says. “Chevy keys?”

  My gaze snaps to him. “Yes.”

  Seth motions for me to follow him back to his office, punching in a code once we reach the red door. A small wicker basket under his desk holds a slew of random items: fleece jackets, baseball caps, wallets, shoes, and eye glasses. He digs around for a second, retrieving a set of shiny keys that look all too familiar.

  Snatching them from his hand, I exhale. “Oh, thank God.”

  Turning to leave, I feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder so I stop.

  “Wait,” he says.

  I spin, facing him. “Yeah?”

  His pale blue eyes search mine and his dimples flash for a split second. He seems so harmless in this moment, so benignly charming.

  “Sorry I couldn’t visit with you tonight,” he says. “Friday nights are crazy around here.”

  “You disappeared,” I say.

  “Yeah.” He drags his perfect, white teeth over his full lower lip. “I know.”

  I want to be angry with him, but the more he stands here looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, the harder it gets.

  “I had a family emergency,” he says. “Had to step out for a few hours.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He winks. “It’s handled now.”

  “That’s g
ood …” I stifle a yawn. “I should go.”

  “Dance with me,” he says.

  “What?”

  Slipping his hand over mine, he leads me to the jukebox, tapping in a code before making his selection.

  “I’d hate to miss an opportunity to dance with a beautiful stranger.”

  “I’m a terrible dancer,” I warn him, placing my clutch and keys on a nearby high top. “Really, really bad.”

  He slips his hands around my waist, pulling me against him as Hunter Hayes begins to serenade us from the speakers.

  “I’ll lead.” His voice is low against my ear, his cheek brushing against mine.

  My hands rest over his broad shoulders and I breathe in his earthy scent. Following his lead, we take unhurried steps, my body against his. I’m well aware of the proximity of our mouths, and I’m pretty sure he can feel my heart ricocheting against his chest, but I don’t care.

  I simply want to enjoy this moment, whatever it is.

  Closing my eyes, I rest my head on his shoulder and he brings me tighter against him, our bodies swaying in tandem until the song comes to an end.

  The bartender drops an empty bottle on the hardwood floor behind us, and the shatter of its glass brings us back to reality.

  Stepping away, I thank Seth for the dance and retrieve my things.

  Silently, I thank him for other things too; for making me feel wanted and desired again. And beautiful. And for reminding me how good it feels to get butterflies again after all these years.

  “I want to see you again,” he says, his hands resting on his hips as he drinks me in.

  Seth may be some hometown hero with a smile that makes a girl weak in the knees, but I have no intentions of sticking around.

  “I’m leaving in a week,” I say, wearing regret in my expression.

  His smile fades and he steps closer, reaching for me. “Guess we’ll have to make the most of it then. What are you doing tomorrow?”

  I shrug. “Not sure.”

  “Meet me here at nine tomorrow night. I want to take you somewhere.”

  Chapter Eleven

  River

  “You know it’s three o’clock in the morning, right?” Leighton closes the picket fence gate and steps lightly up the paved sidewalk. She’s grinning, coming toward me like a woman floating on a breeze.

  Anchored in a wooden rocking chair, I flatten my lips. “Your point?”

  “Why are you still up?” She takes the chair beside me, crossing her legs and leaning toward me. “Were you waiting for me to get home?”

  “Nope.” I fold my hands across my stomach, staring ahead.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Something like that.” I exhale. Story of my life.

  “Can I ask you something?” Leighton’s brows are furrowed, like she’s concentrating, and she rests her chin on top of her hand.

  “No.” I rise to head in, only she reaches for me, tugging on my sleeve until I return to my seat.

  “Talk to me.”

  “We’re not friends,” I remind her.

  “We don’t need to be friends to talk.” She sits up tall in her rocker, squaring her shoulders. “I’m just curious about some things.”

  “And those things are probably none of your business.” My words are sharp, cutting.

  “I know that,” she says, watching me. “Doesn’t make me any less curious.”

  We linger in silence for a moment, nothing but the sound of cicadas and the rare bellow of a cow calling her calf somewhere over the hill.

  “When I talked to Molly earlier, she said some things…” Leighton pauses.

  “Molly says a lot of things.”

  “She gave me the impression that you weren’t always like this.”

  I scoff. “Weren’t always like what?”

  “Closed off. Bitter. Temperamental.” Leighton seems to choose her words carefully, but it doesn’t make them any easier to swallow.

  I know what I’ve become. In fact, I’m well aware. No man has his heart and soul pulverized and comes out completely unscathed. I may not have visible scars, but it doesn’t mean they’re not there, taking up permanent residence just beneath the surface.

  I feel them every day, a stark reminder of everything I lost.

  One day she was here …

  The next day she was gone. And she took my whole world with her.

  And it wasn’t her fault. Not one bit. It was mine.

  That’s something I have to live with the rest of my life.

  “Molly thinks you’re lonely,” she says, releasing a gentle chuckle.

  Dragging in a ragged breath, I ponder my answer before letting it go. “I’m not sure why you think any of that would concern you.”

  “So you are.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I snap.

  “Well, Molly seems to think that, and she says you guys have known each other since you were kids.” Leighton rocks, staring up at a starless sky with her hands folded across her lower belly. I glance away. “She’s worried about you. She wants to see you smile again.”

  “Smiling’s overrated.”

  “Molly wants me to stick around,” she says, “for your sake. I told her it probably wasn’t a good idea. I feel like you find me annoying.”

  “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

  Her brows lift, her jaw unhinges. “Really? So you do find me annoying …”

  “You talk way too much. You ask too many questions. And for a city girl, you’re awfully naïve.”

  She stands, hands on her hips. “You don’t talk enough. You don’t ask nearly enough questions because you don’t seem to care about anyone but yourself. And for a small-town boy, you’re awfully rude.”

  I rise, towering over her and breathing out my nose. She smells like a bar: cheap beer and stale cigarettes. I liked her better when she smelled like my soap and her exotic perfume.

  Nothing about this woman belongs here, in this town. She’s too polished and pretty, her eyes too filled with life and hope. This town would chew her up and spit her out, just like it has everyone else who stuck around.

  “I’m going to bed,” I say.

  Her eyes narrow. “You can’t just walk away.”

  “And why the hell not?”

  “Because we’re fighting. And you’re trying to run from it.”

  “Don’t use my words against me.” I shake my head, hooking my thumbs through the belt loops of my jeans. “I’m not running, Leighton. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. And trust me. We’re not fighting, sweetheart. You’d know if we were.”

  Leighton’s hands grip the sides of her head, tugging at her dark hair, and she releases an exasperated moan. I imagine I’m infuriating her right now, but I don’t particularly care. In fact, I couldn’t care less.

  “Goodnight, now.” I head back inside, letting the screen door slam behind me.

  My hand grips the banister as I head upstairs for bed when I hear the creak of the door and the sigh of my “roommate.”

  “I don’t like this,” she says. “I don’t like walking on egg shells. I don’t like not knowing where I stand with you.”

  I say nothing, keeping my back toward her.

  “I’ve got another week here,” she continues. “Let’s figure out a way to make this at least somewhat enjoyable for the both of us.”

  Climbing the stairs, I say nothing.

  A week from now, she’ll be gone, and there’s no sense in letting myself get attached.

  Chapter Twelve

  Leighton

  “I’m sorry about last night.” I slide my hands in my jeans pockets as River crouches beside a broken barbed wire fence. “I pushed you too far.”

  He says nothing.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I add. “This is your home, and I need to respect your wishes and stay out of your business.” He drops a pair of fencing pliers on the grass and exhales. “And you’re right. We’re not friends. We’re strangers. I literally know nothing about you, and
I guess I let my curiosity get the best of me because you have to admit, River, you’re a little mysterious.” I chuckle. “But I’ll stop with the questions. And I’ll stay out of your way.”

  He glances up at me, his lips pressed flat, and then reaches for his wire stretcher.

  Placing my hand over my heart, I say, “I just want you to know I’m extremely grateful that you’re letting me stay here. All my best childhood memories were here, with my family. It may just be an old farmhouse to you, but to me it’s heaven on earth. So thank you.”

  The moment I’m done saying my piece, I head for the hen house to start my chores.

  And to give him some space.

  Seth stands outside the back door of The Oasis at nine o’clock sharp, and the moment he sees me pull up, his crystalline blue eyes light up from within.

  “You ready?” he asks when I climb out of my car. His keys jangle in his hands, and I follow him to a freshly waxed Ford F-250 with dealer plates and a flawless paint job the color of a moonless night sky. The bar business must be good to him.

  He gets the passenger door for me, closing it gently as soon as I’m settled.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask as soon as he’s in. “Or is it a surprise?”

  “Keyapaha Peak,” he says, starting the engine. He looks at me, drinking me in before flashing a megawatt smile. “It’s a butte about ten miles outside of town. You can see everything from there. All the stars. All the hills.” He pulls out of the alley and turns down a side street. “It’s quiet and peaceful. About the only place I can go anymore to hear myself think.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, there’s nothing special about Bonesteel Creek … except for maybe this place. Just thought you might want to see it before you go.”

  “It sounds amazing. Thank you.”

  Seth dials the radio knob and a slow country love song plays softly from the speakers. The windows are cracked a few inches, letting in a tepid June breeze carrying the scent of freshly cut hay.

  Ten minutes later, we pull down a rutted dirt road flanked by a canopy of old trees. Seth comes to a stop at the top of a hill.