"Thank you," I tell her, drinking half the glass in one gulp.
"You're welcome," she responds. Her gaze was on my neck, but now it lifts to find my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I don’t usually drink that much, but I’m fine.”
Her head shakes. “I was referring to you waking up here. I didn't know how you’d feel about it.”
Oh.
She continues. “You just seem… hesitant sometimes. Two steps forward, one back.” Her eyes scrunch and her head moves back and forth in quick, tiny motions. “Disregard that. It wasn't a complaint. You have the right to do whatever you need to do.” She turns, pouring coffee into two mugs. She adds half and half to hers, and when she extends the carton to me, I wave it away. "No, thank you."
I’m still digesting her most recent comment. I have the right to get through these new feelings for a woman who isn't Brea just as much as Jessie has the right to know about her. If I tell her now, it will dim this moment, maybe even cast its shadow over everything developing between us. How could it not?
I study Jessie’s soft curves, the hollow of her throat, the rise and fall of her chest. And I decide not to tell her. Not yet.
She walks to an opening just off the kitchen, and I follow. Through it is a small mudroom, the washer and dryer opposite a bench with a boot tray beneath it. Hooks cling to the wall, but nothing hangs from them. Another door leads outside, and we step out into the early morning air.
Crisp, clean pine. Dirt and sunshine. It's springtime, and the mornings are chilly. Steam rises from our coffee cups, and it transports me back in time, to a place not too far from here, when I was a child and life was good.
Quietly, I inhale everything. The scent of the ranch, the cold air, and the warm memories. I take them all in. It has been so long since I had a morning like this, and just like the soft footfalls of my wife, I didn't know how much I loved it until it was gone.
"It's beautiful out here." I sip the hot black coffee.
Jessie looks up at me. “Do you remember a lot about living at Wildflower? The Circle B, I mean?” A tiny bit of sleep is crusted at the corner of her left eye, and it humanizes her. She is so audacious, so authoritative, that it’s easy to think she is some kind of other-worldly warrior princess.
“For a long time I pushed away the memories, but since I’ve returned to Sierra Grande, some of it has come back.” I take a drink. “Something inside me always yearned for these sights. These smells.” I gesture out at the landscape. “This feels like where I belong.”
“That’s how I felt when I moved for college. This ranch means everything to me.” She gazes back out to the wall of trees around her home. Her hair isn't messy the way I pictured it when I first heard her moving around. It's wound on top of her head in a bun, and it makes her seem taller than she is. Our shoulders are almost touching, and I feel the movement of air when she lifts her cup to her mouth. "What means everything to you, Sawyer?"
Such a good question. "I'm not sure." When I came here, there was something that meant everything to me.Someone.But now I fear something else is beginning to become important. And now thatsomeoneis slipping away, seeping through the cracks in my fingers.
"I've never been unsure." Jessie looks back to me with that steady, clear-eyed gaze. "The HCC is my first love. It will be my last love."
I nod. I understand singular devotion.
"You have a busy day ahead of you, I’m assuming?” She punctures the heavy conversation with a basic question. “Buying properties and single-handedly saving ranches?”
I nod and grin at her teasing tone. "Yes, I do. Better get to it."
Her mouth opens to speak, but it's interrupted by the cracking of twigs, the heavy steps of boots. Jessie's eyes widen, but she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders.Oh shit. I know what this scene looks like.
Beau and Wes round the corner of the log cabin. Both men stop short when they see us, then continue.
"Hello," I greet them first, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
Wes's mouth forms a hard, straight line. Last night’s friendly expression is as absent from his face as the whiskey glass from his hand.
Beau looks from me to Jessie. His expression is impossible for me to read. At this point, he must be thinking I've slept with his daughter. I open my mouth to tell him it's simply a case of having too much to drink last night, but Jessie speaks first.
"I don't appreciate the way either of you are looking at me. I'm an adult." Anger vibrates off her words, her hand motions, maybe even her breath.
Beau's jaw clenches. "Christ, this again? We all know your age, Jessie."
"Do you?" She takes a step toward her dad. Her nightdress swings around her legs. I can't help but admire her, the way she steps up and challenges her dad when she believes he's wrong, and that she doesn't give a shit about what she's wearing.
"Tell me, Dad. When you were twenty-one, did Gramps come to your home and judge you the way you’re judging me right now? Or did he pat your back later, a silent congratulation for getting laid?"
Beau pins me with a hard stare as Jessie all but confirms what he assumes, but couldn't be further from the truth.So much for the inroads I made with him last night.He looks back at her. "You need to watch your mouth, young lady."
