Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 13

  Exhaling some of the adrenaline rushing through my body, I crouch down, following the rope leash into the darkness as far as I can fit. “Come on out,” I say, but I can’t help how hard and uninviting my voice sounds. I clear my throat. “Come on,” I say in a higher pitch. “Come out—”

  There’s a snicker behind me and I turn around. I straighten when I see Sam tying her horse up to a sapling oak just outside the pump house.

  “Are you okay?” she asks. Though she’s smiling slightly, she’s also assessing me. Her eyes shift to the darkness Petey crawled into.

  I inhale and rub the back of my neck, uncertain if my heart is suddenly racing faster or if it’s only my imagination. “Yeah, just a slight morning mishap.”

  Sam looks at the ladder and her gaze narrows on me as she steps closer. “Are you sure?” She gives me a once-over and reaches for my hand. One of my gloves is red with blood. I hadn’t realized I’d cut myself.

  Sam’s brow furrows even more, and she gently tugs my glove off. Even though it doesn’t hurt and I’m not worried about the wound, I don’t say anything. Instead, I watch her as she examines my hand. Hers is so much smaller than mine, but rougher and more calloused. Something about that makes me smile.

  “At least you were wearing gloves,” she breathes and looks up at me.

  “Always.” I watch her a moment longer. Her eyes scan my face as mine scan hers. Under her cowboy hat, her hair’s drawn into long pigtails that trail down around her shoulders and I can smell her shampoo; it smells so good something stirs inside me. I force myself to glance away.

  “You must’ve nicked it on something,” she says and squints up at the roof.

  “Probably a screw or nail. I was tearing the gutters off.”

  Sam stares at the house, biting the side of her lip a moment until her attention stirs. She offers me a false smile, lets go of my hand, peers down at the dog, then back at me. “Do you have a first aid kit? We should clean it up so it doesn’t get infected.”

  I nod and head for my truck.

  “Are you up to date on your tetanus shot?”

  “I’m up to date on everything,” I say easily. “There’s not really anything the Army lets you slack off on.” I pull the small emergency kit from beneath the bench seat of my truck and head back over to her.

  Sam’s crouched on the ground, crooning at Petey in a soft, reassuring voice to come out. “It’s okay, silly. Come on. Come here.” She clicks her tongue.

  “We could pull him out by the rope,” I offer, knowing that’s probably not the best idea, but Sam shakes her head anyway.

  “That will frighten him more, I think.” She glances up at me. “If you rinse off your hand, I’ll doctor it up for you,” she says and turns her attention back to Petey. “Come on, sweetie. It’s okay . . .” She continues to coax Petey out, all patience and reassuring noises as I head over to the hose and rinse off my hand.

  Finally, Petey slowly crawls out, licking Sam’s hands as she pets his head, telling him what a good boy he is, even though Nick says she hates him. “So she says. Sam’s a softy when it comes to animals—she’s all bark and no bite. Why do you think she’s let me keep him around the ranch all this time?” Nick winked. “And don’t even get me started on the cat.”

  I can see it, especially now as I watch her fawn all over the mutt. No longer shaking and scared, Petey rolls onto his back so Sam will scratch his stomach.

  “Nice,” I say and crouch down beside them. “Way to work the charm, bud.”

  Sam smiles at me, but then it falters. She gives Petey one last pat, tells him he’s a good boy, and stands up. I hope she’s not running off, not yet. It’s the first time she’s been even partially conversational, and I’m not ready for her to leave.

  She surprises me and takes my good hand in hers, pulling me over to the porch steps. “Sit,” she says and opens up the plastic box. Everything in the kit is no doubt expired it’s been sitting there all this time, but I don’t care and Sam doesn’t seem to either.

  I do as she commands without a word.

  Sam rips open a small alcohol pad and peers up at me through her lashes. “This might sting, but it will be quick.” She wipes the pad gently over the small gouge in my palm and looks back up at me.

  “I’m fine,” I say, “I’ve been through worse.” I smile.

  She shakes her head. “I forgot, you’re a big tough G.I. Joe now.”

  I laugh, really laugh. “I wouldn’t say that.” If she only knew how confused I am when she’s around, how conflicted. Tough wouldn’t be the word I’d use to describe me—careful, perhaps but not near as careful as I know I should be. For the first time, I wonder what she really does see when she looks at me now.

  Sam sets my hand down in her lap and pulls out a bandage. “Nick is such a baby when it comes to these things. I think he just likes the attention.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I say, my eyes glued to her as she gently smooths the bandage over the wound. I don’t see Sam from the bar sitting beside me, but young, protective Sam making sure I’m alright. I fight the urge to close my hand around hers.

  “There you go,” she says and closes up the first aid kit. “All better. You should keep this covered up while you’re working so you don’t get dirt in it, but clean it again later and let it dry, okay?”

  I love that she’s telling me how to dress a cut when I was trained to dress wounds a lot more severe than this one. I just love that she cares at all, so I simply nod.

  Sam clears her throat. I can feel the air change around us, it becomes less easy and more expectant. “So,” she starts to say. “I . . . I want to apologize for last night—for what I said.” Her brow draws together again and she looks up at me. “I didn’t mean for it to come out so horrible.” She taps her index fingers on her knees. “I guess I’m just not used to you being back, and now you’re here and . . .” She stares at me. “And, I’m just sorry.”

  I nod in gratitude. I can tell how hard it is for her to talk to me, and I wonder if and when an opportunity like this will come again. “We should probably talk about a few things, sort of clear the air so we can try to move past everything, since I’ll be here a while.”

  Sam’s mouth quirks up in the corner, one of her false smiles, and she stands up. “Yeah, maybe later, okay?” She brushes her hands off on her shorts and takes a step back. “I’ve got a boarder coming this morning, and I should get back.”

  I don’t know if she’s lying or brushing me off, but I can tell she doesn’t want to talk to me, so I don’t push her. Not now.

  Sam shoves her hands in the back pockets of her cutoffs and hurries toward her horse, her cowboy boots thudding against the dried ground with each determined step.

  “Thank you for saving me,” I call out, and I hope the amusement in my tone puts her a little more at ease.

  Sam barely looks over her shoulder as she gives me a quick wave. “Take care of that hand,” she calls back. Then Sam’s mounting Shasta and riding away from me, again.

  But this time something feels different—Sam’s changed, but she’s still in there—and I can’t help but smile.

  * * *

  Four Years Ago

  I turn on my heel and pace down the length of the dock. Each step is a frenzied thought, a decision I know I have to make before I do something stupid I’d most likely regret. I can’t live like this anymore.

  The dock creaks beneath my steps. I should quit baseball now, before the end of the season, get a part-time job and start saving money so I can move out the instant I turn eighteen. As soon as I graduate I can work full time—I can figure out what I want to do with my life later. Just getting away from here is enough for now.

  Turning, I pace the other direction. I shake my head. I won’t have enough money, not by graduation or my eighteenth birthday and definitely not before then.

  There’s the Army option. I could enlist, learn a trade, travel the world, give myself time to think more about my life away from t
his place and what I want to do . . .

  A horse snorts from up on the hill, followed by the clanking of metal. I glance up to find Sam sitting atop a gray horse, which shakes its head as it leans down to nibble the green grass at its feet. I pause.

  Sam’s eyes are wide when our gazes meet, and her cheeks are flushed.

  I can’t help the small, relieved smile I feel tugging at my lips. Seeing her reminds me why she fills my thoughts so often, why everything seems to circle back to her—something to tell her, to show her, to share with her.

  Slowly, her eyes still fixed on me, she dismounts. Her gaze is unwavering as she tries to read me, to figure out what’s wrong and why I’m here this time.

  “Hey,” she says quietly. She’s shoving her hands in her back pockets as she steps onto the dock, but she freezes the moment she registers the welt above my eye. Her brow furrows as she takes the sight of me in, assessing me so closely it would’ve made me uncomfortable had we not become so close—had she not already known who I am and what I come from.

  Her frown deepens and she hurries closer. Her wild brown eyes search mine, then latch onto my forehead. “What did he do?” Her hand moves slowly to my temple. “He hit you . . .”

  The concern in her eyes makes my uneven breathing hitch. I take a step back. Despite wanting to see her, I don’t want her to see me like this. “It’s nothing,” I say, running my fingers through my hair. “I’ll be fine. At least I got to hit him back this time.”

  I continue pacing again, uncertain why I came down here and what I expected to achieve. Sam’s all I’ve been able to think about over the past couple months, and that scares me more than anything. She makes me question myself, the path I saw for my life. Her being here makes everything harder to process, makes it hard to—

  “Josh,” she says and reaches out as I step past her. Her hand grasps my shoulder with a firm but gentle squeeze.

  I pause again, craning my neck to look at her hand, then into her eyes. They’re pleading with me.

  “You can’t stay there anymore, Josh . . . you can’t be in that house with him. My dad can help you find somewhere—”

  “I’ll be fine, Sam,” I say and reach for her hand still clasping my shoulder. Although the fact that she cares so much means more to me than she’ll ever know, I don’t want their charity. I don’t want to be anyone else’s problem. Staying with the old man is something I’m used to. What’s a few more months until graduation?

  “Please,” she says, and she wraps her arms around my shoulders. I’m stunned and speechless, lost in the fruity scent of her, in the warmth and feel of her body against mine. In her compassion and genuine concern for me.

  I sigh the tension from my body and soak her in. We’ve never been this close, and I can barely remember why I was so upset, why she’s so upset.

  “I care about you,” she says, her voice broken and strained. “I don’t want something worse to happen. We need to get you out of there. Wherever you have to go—whatever it takes. Please—”

  “Shhh . . .” I unwrap her arms from around me and lean back to look at her, at the tears filling her eyes, the worry. “Hey,” I breathe and brush away the dampness from beneath her glasses. “I promise you, I’ll be fine. It’s not as bad as it looks, and he’s rarely like this. I promise you, it was just a smack.”

  She frowns. I know nothing I say makes any of it better in her eyes, but I know it could’ve been worse. The emotion reddening her cheeks and filling her eyes is enough to make me wish I hadn’t come down here, that I hadn’t secretly hoped to see her. I can’t stand seeing her so upset, so worried . . . about me.

  Without another thought or sense of reasoning, I lean in and bring her mouth to mine. She tenses a moment, both of us recalibrating before her mouth finally eases open, and I can taste her. Her lips are soft, her breath warm, and her body is shaking against me. Sam’s everything good—everything I’ve always been deprived of. I’m not sure if I want her or need her or both.

  Eyes still closed, she breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against mine. She tries to catch her breath. She licks her lips. She exhales. Then she peers through her damp lashes and up at me, her brown eyes searching mine.

  How have I never known her until now? How have I never known how amazing she is, how pure and good and beautiful? How can I ever leave this place—leave her?

  How can I possibly stay?

  Twelve

  Sam

  The sounds of hammering, sawing, and the occasional loud clank and bang have been floating over the lake since the sun came up. All I can do is picture Reilly up on the ladder, the way he was yesterday, ripping pieces of the roof off or carrying beams over his shoulder, all with that silent brooding and those flexing muscles that are impossible to ignore. It’s quieted down over the past hour or so, but I know he’s there, and for some reason it’s harder for me to focus today than it has been since he got home.

  Just as I finish applying weather sealant on the railroad ties that line the flower beds scattered up the gravel drive, I hear quick, light footsteps behind me.

  “Hey, Sam,” Sarah, one of our longest boarders, says as she walks toward me. Her short hair is pulled up in a tiny dark ponytail and she squints at me in the early afternoon sun.

  “Hi, Sarah. Good ride this morning?” I stand up and wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm.

  She nods and gestures at the front of her clothes—wet and covered with dirt and horse hair. “Can’t you tell?” She chuckles and shakes her head. “I find I like bathing Bullet a lot more when it’s this hot outside.”

  “I hear ya,” I say and tug off my gloves. “Do you want something to drink? I made some fresh tea this morning.”

  “Oh, no, thank you. I need to get going. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be mailing in my board check this week. I forgot to bring it with me today. Will you let Alison know for me?”

  I nod. “Of course, no problem.”

  “Great, thanks.” Sarah fans herself off. “I guess I better get going then. I need to shower and primp before tonight.” She rolls her eyes. “My friends are setting me up on a blind date. You know those never end well.”

  I flash her a pitying look. “I’m sure it will be fine. Maybe you could pre-game a little before you go.” That’s what Mac would do, loosen herself up.

  Sarah shrugs. “I know, right? God, I should probably take my flask.” We hear distant hammering and I know immediately who it is.

  Suddenly Sarah’s eyes brighten, and she nods behind her. “Must be your neighbor, Josh. I heard he’s back in town. My friend Margaret works at the hardware store. Now, if my blind date looks anything like him, I’d have to drink just to steady my nerves. Have you talked to him much since he got home? I heard his dad recently passed.”

  Heat licks up my chest and neck, and I’m suddenly tongue-tied. “Um, a little, but—it’s sort of a weird situation. We . . . um . . . it’s complicated.”

  Sarah looks at me sideways, and I’m completely mortified. Way to sound solid, Sam.

  “Right, well, I should get going. Lots to do to get ready for tonight. Wish me luck!”

  “Good luck!” I call with a relieved smile. She’s leaving and now I can go shove my head in a hole somewhere.

  I finish up my final railroad tie and gather my things. I need to water the horses before we leave for the last-minute tree-cutting session Nick insisted on today. I also need to change my clothes. There is no way I’m chopping wood in ninety-eight-degree weather in sweltering long pants.

  * * *

  After pulling my hair up on top of my head, I shimmy on my shorts, tug a tank top over my head, and pause by my bedside table. The drawer is cracked open, and I see a glint of metal inside. Shame washes over me, and my body turns cold, then hot again. My hand goes to my hip automatically, and I slam the drawer shut all the way.

  Suddenly, there’s a flurry of sounds—chickens clucking, wings flapping, and Petey barking. My hackles instantly rise.
“Petey!” I make a dash for the stairs. After nearly falling in my ungraceful descent, I head out the back door, ready to lose myself to salt-covered skin and potential heatstroke. I pull my boots on at the back door before I stomp toward the chicken coop.

  I nearly run directly into Reilly as I round the side of the stable.

  “You’re here,” I breathe, and take a step back. Petey’s jumping up on me before I can get tongue-tied again, and I glare at Reilly.

  “Down,” he commands, and he has to repeat it a few times and puts his palm out before the dog finally stops long enough to look at him and listen.

  My truck horn sounds, once—twice—and I know that Nick is ready, impatiently waiting for me.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll be tied up,” Reilly says. “Nick said I could put him in one of the empty stalls while we’re gone. I was going to leave him at the house, but—”

  “While we’re gone—you’re here to help?”

  He nods, but I can’t see his eyes in the shadow of his baseball cap. “That okay with you?”

  Nick honks again. “Yeah, sure. You can put Petey in the stall at the end. I’m going to get some tools.” I turn to leave, but Reilly stops me. “I already grabbed the hatchet and a mallet. Nick was getting the chainsaw.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Okay, then.” I turn on my heels and head toward the truck, leaving Reilly to deal with Petey. It’s nice that Reilly is willing to help us out today, but I wasn’t prepared to spend the day with him.

  “Sup, girl!” Nick calls as I draw closer to the truck. He’s loading the chainsaw in the back. “Sorry to spur this on you at the last minute, I know you were planning on a barbed wire dump run today. Reilly was expecting a crew at his place but something happened, so he’s available … so I made us available.” He smiles.