There’s a lot of things that I’ve spent my time wishing for throughout the years.
I wished for a wife and kids, then for my wife’s sickness to go away, then for the grief that she left in her wake to stop lingering. I wished for the ranch to be successful, and then for it to slow down enough that I could handle it on my own. Now I wish that it would just handle itself most of the time. I’ve wished to be more patient and to be easier to talk to and to be a better father and a million other things.
Right now, though, I’m mostly just wishing that Mary had worn a perfume that didn’t draw my attention so much. She smells like wildflowers and clean grass, and I can’t keep my thoughts straight when every breath draws a lungful of that scent in.
Maybe if her car wasn’t so damn small, it would be easier to deal with, but I have to tuck my arms against my sides just to keep our elbows from brushing over the center console.
I can’t even put the window down, because the weather has been absolutely rotten lately, and I know Mary would kill me if I got mud in her car or on either of us. And as much as I’d prefer not to admit it, I’d feel bad if her clothes got dirty. She looks evenbetter than she usually does, which I didn’t think was possible. Her hair is in that same sensible ponytail it always is, but she left a few strands free to frame her face, and her shirt is a dark red that makes the blue of her eyes look so much brighter. I absolutely refuse to look down at the skirt resting just above her knee, highlighting the curve of her hips and the trimness of her waist.
The last thing I need is to work myself back up.
My dip in the river had been intended to clear my head of thoughts of her that seem impossible to shake. It had also been in the hope that we’d miss this meeting entirely, if I’m honest. She has no way of knowing that Duffy Jr. and his crew aren’t new clients, but old ones that I have some less than savory history with. Shortly after Laura passed, he’d poached almost half of my clients, ready to toss me—and nearly a decade of friendship—to the wolves.
Thankfully, his little farm had gone under and those clients had come back to me when Duffy Sr. died, but I haven’t been particularly interested in opening a line of communication back up. I didn’t tell Mary any of that, partially because I’m hoping that she’ll see how futile this whole idea is when this meeting goes south. I’ll admit that the reason I agreed in the first place was because she looked soexcitedwhen she told me that they wanted to get together and discuss a deal. I’m finding it harder and harder to say no to her by the day.
I don’t even understand why I can’t stop thinking about her, because I’m usually not shallow enough to fall into the trap of a beautiful woman. Sure, she’s a different kind of gorgeous than I’m used to out here, but she’s not the first pretty woman I’ve laid my eyes on.
On paper, we shouldn’t be compatible. She babbles constantly. There’s a never-ending stream of questions and suggestions flowing from her. She doesn’t seem to even payattention to the way I give her the bare minimum in response, continuing with her conversation like I’m participating much more than I ever do. Her latest ramble was a million and a half questions about why I don’t work with the local meat packers and why the ranch is failing in the first place when I have such good ratings with all of the clients I’ve managed to keep from out of state. I don’t know how to tell her that they like me because they’ve never actually met me.
It’s easy to imagine me as a better man when your only interaction with me is good prices and high quality product. Everyone around here knows all about how much of an asshole I am, and they’d rather go a different route than deal with my personality.
I almost find myself missing her nonstop chatter, though, as we wind our way toward the highway. The quiet streets of home start to be replaced by bustling shops. It’s not quite the city, but we’re definitely driving through a solid middle ground between my life and hers. Her tiny little electric car is my personal hell, with nowhere to hide from her. Every time we pass a thicket of trees, I can see her reflection in the window, and it hits me like a punch to the gut every time.
Thankfully, we’re pulling onto the highway in less than a minute, so the rest of the drive should be distraction-free. Minus her perfume.
Maybe in a different life, I could drink my fill of the sight of her, but I’m not stupid enough to think she could want anything but my cooperation from me. First of all, she’s closer to my daughter’s age than mine. More importantly, though, it would be flat out disrespectful to act on my ridiculous attraction to her.
She’s just here doing a job, no matter how every second with her makes me wish she was going to stay.
Well, every second that she’s not driving me absolutely insane, at least.
A grinding clunk from beneath my feet jerks me back to myself. The car shudders violently, making Mary scream and clutch the wheel.
“Steer toward the shoulder,” I tell her, slapping the button to turn her hazards on.
“What’s going?—”
“Steer,” I say sharply. “The car’s going to wobble, push it toward the shoulder as best you can. No one’s close behind you.”
I glance back to confirm my statement even as I say it, relieved to find that the only other car on the road is several hundred feet back.
Mary heaves in a breath as we veer sharply toward the shoulder, and I tense as I watch the steering wheel shake beneath her hands. I’m used to thrown rods and ancient engines deciding to give up, but I have no idea what evencango wrong with this dumb little electric thing. She’s wide-eyed and obviously terrified as we cut across the lanes of the highway and head straight toward Exit 4. It’s a harsh angle, but it’s a much better bet than trying to make it to the next exit or breaking down in the middle of the highway.
After what feels like forever, we finally reach the exit, well off to the shoulder. The tires on my side are just barely in the grass when another loud clunk sounds and the car lurches to a halt. Mary squeals in panic at the sudden jolt, and I find myself reaching out to rub across her back without thinking about it.
“What the hell just happened?” she asks, her voice breathy and weak.
“Something with the computer?” I guess. “These damn things break for no reason.”
I’m not usually worried when something goes wrong in a car, because usually either I or one of the ranch hands can fix it, and none of us are prone to panic. Mary managed to keep her head on straight for long enough to get us off the road, which isnothing short of miraculous. I doubt she’s ever had anything go wrong with her car.I’m just glad we weren’t close enough to town to be in heavier traffic.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
She turns to face me, still shaking with fear. It looks like she’s starting to come up from the adrenaline rush now that we’re no longer moving, and she grabs for her phone where it’s propped in one of the cup holders.
“Means you can’t drive the car until it’s fixed,” I tell her.
She whips her head up to look at me in shock, her mouth dropping open. I can see the panic creeping back in at the edges of her eyes, so I sigh and nod toward her phone. It’s gripped loosely in her hand, almost like she forgot she was holding it, but she looks down when I gesture to it.
