Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 5

  Finally, after hitting what seems like every single stoplight in town, I pull up to the curb across the street from Cal’s Auto. I honk a few times as I shut off the engine, alerting Mac that I’ve arrived, then I grab our bagged lunch and head for our shady spot beneath the only willow tree in the park, glad to see it’s not already taken. Unlike the ranch, the grass is green and soft here, making a nice picnic spot for the lunch dates we get to sneak in every once in a while.

  I set the sandwich bag on the ground and start to lay the old flannel blanket I keep stashed in the cab of my truck out on the grass.

  “We had an agreement, Mr. Vasquez,” I hear Mac scold from inside the shop. The entrance door is open, probably because it’s such a nice day, or maybe because the smell of brake cleaner is too strong otherwise. I’m not sure how she deals with it every day, but then, when you grow up with a dad and two brothers covered in car fluids, I guess it’s something a girl can get used to, just like I’m used to the smell of manure and fly spray.

  But Mac is special, and I have a profound respect for her. Every day, while Mr. Carmichael and his crew—which consists of one of her brothers, Bobby, and a couple other guys from around town—wrench, Mac runs the front desk, helps bleed brakes when needed, and makes sure Mr. Carmichael has dinner at a reasonable time before he passes out in his recliner, generally until dawn the next morning. She somehow fits in community college courses, jogging five miles a day, and always looking like a million bucks, no matter what she’s doing. She keeps up with everything and still has her shit together, still seems normal.

  “You’re paying, Mr. Vasquez,” she continues. I can see her as she walks by the door. “You’re paying or I’m having your car towed. The impound payment will be double what you owe us. You decide.” Mac sets the cordless phone in its cradle at the counter and waves at me before she heads over.

  I plop down and open the container of fruit, contentedly waiting for Mac and Nick to join me. I pop a piece of pineapple into my mouth just as Nick’s Explorer turns the corner a couple blocks away. I can hear his rock ’n’ roll blaring as he drives up the street and see him drumming on the steering wheel as he comes to a stop.

  “Sup, girl!” he calls out his window to Mac as she stops at the curb ready to cross. But just as she’s about to wave at Nick, Bobby calls her back into the shop.

  Mac gives me a “be right back” look before she hurries back inside. “You ever heard of a lunch break, people?” she grinds out as Nick shuts the engine off, and Mac disappears back inside.

  Nick gives me a nod in greeting and steps out of the Explorer. He looks like a completely different person when he’s not covered in dirt and dust. His wranglers, boots, and cowboy hat are replaced with a pair of cargo shorts, a pullover polo, and a pair of flip-flops.

  “Hey, stranger,” I say as he trudges up the incline toward our little picnic. “You clean up pretty damn good, Mr. Turner,” I say. “I like the preppy look. I still want to see you on a horse, though.”

  “I’ll do blisters and horse shit and manual labor, hell, I’ll wash the damn beasts for you, but you will never see me on a horse,” Nick vows. “Ever.” In true Nick fashion, he hits his chest and outstretches his arms, a wide and contagious smile filling his face. “Never!” His arms fall to his sides, and he plops down beside me. “So you might as well give up.”

  As soon as he finds the jar of dill pickles I bought for him, he snatches them up, excitement lighting his eyes. “You’re so good to me,” he says in a lusty daze as he strains—but only momentarily—to open the jar.

  “I know,” I say and sigh. “Don’t forget it.”

  “Never, ever.” He licks his lips as he unscrews the lid. “Come to Daddy,” he murmurs.

  “Should I leave you and your pickles alone?” I ask. Legs crossed, I lean back and lift my face up to what few rays of sun penetrate the willow’s cover and close my eyes. I can feel goose bumps rise on my thighs as a slight breeze picks up. It feels good in the dry heat.

  The smell in the park is different from the scent carried on the breeze at home on the ranch. Here, I smell roses and freshly cut grass, and I hear kids playing in the sandbox a couple dozen yards behind us. The rustling of the willow’s covering sounds soft and magical compared to the crackle of oak leaves back home.

  “You think I could live on pickles?” Nick asks as he crunches one between his teeth. He recaps the pickle jar before setting it aside to dig through the rest of the goodies I brought.

  I smack his hand away from the bag. “Wait for Mac, would ya?”

  “Geez, no violence necessary.” Trying not to laugh, he leans back on his elbows. “What’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

  I look down at my cutoffs, picking a piece of thread from my neon pink tank top. I shrug. “Stopping by the grocery store so I can cook you dinner tomorrow, going to the pharmacy, getting gas, then heading home. You know, nothing crazy.” I plan to visit Papa’s grave, too, but that doesn’t seem like a necessary topic to bring up.

  “You should come to Lick’s tonight. You can have a drink and let your hair down a little. And you can meet Savannah.” Nick’s dark eyebrows danced.

  “And cock-block you? I wouldn’t want to rain on your parade.”

  I don’t like the way he studies me—the sandstone-colored flecks in his green eyes are illuminated by the sunlight, and the moment his eyes narrow, I know he’s intent on discovering the truth. I clear my throat. Apparently, omitting the blip about Papa was pointless. Nick’s worried about me going home today, regardless of what I don’t say.

  I pretend not to notice. “Savannah meeting me is almost like meeting the parents. Trust me, you don’t want me to meet her until you know she’s the real deal.”

  “Hey, fellas!” Mac calls as she jogs primly across the street, her heels clacking against the pavement. Her dark brown hair is long, loose, and wavy today, which means she didn’t have much time to get ready this morning, though to the untrained eye a person would never know it.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” she says, staring down at the bag of professionally wrapped sandwiches. She bats her eyelashes. “You have no idea how starving I am.”

  I sit up, shaking my head. When Mac looks at me with glittering green eyes, she winks. “Thanks, Sam.” She settles on the blanket across from Nick and me, her legs folded under her so she’s not exposing herself to the world as she sits awkwardly in her skirt. Mac offers us each an air kiss as she picks a purple grape out of the fruit bowl. “Aw, you waited for me.” She beams her ridiculously gorgeous smile. “As much as I love the guys,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder toward the shop, “chivalry is lost on them. They didn’t even leave me any coffee this morning.”

  “Of course we waited,” Nick says and begins pulling the goodies from the bag. “As if we’d do any different.”

  “Yeah, right.” Mac rolls her eyes and reaches forward to pluck a strawberry from the rainbow-filled pint.

  Muttering to himself, Nick reads the sandwich labels. He hands Mac her turkey and Swiss and passes the chicken with smoked cheddar to me. And somehow, before I’ve even opened my sandwich all the way, Nick’s already taking a bite of his cheeseless salami.

  “What?” he mumbles, his mouth full of food. “I’m a growing boy.”

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” Mac retorts. She unfolds her napkin over her skirt before she unwraps her lunch.

  I give her a once-over. “How do you work in a mechanic shop wearing a pencil skirt, and a tan one at that?” An image of her bending over for a file while all the guys in the shop gape at her comes to mind. “I mean, I’m sure the guys love it, but it can’t be functional.” I tear a piece of my French roll off and plunk it into my mouth. Spicy mustard tingles the tip of my tongue and I savor the taste.

  Mac lifts a shoulder. “It’s quite easy, actually. Besides, I’m not worried about the guys. My dad would kill them if they got caught ogling the boss’s daughter. They’re all like uncles more than
random pervy men, anyway.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Nick grunts.

  “Look,” Mac says with a huff. “Just because I work in a place filled with grease and stinky men doesn’t mean I can’t look like a girl while I’m doing it.”

  I shrug. “True.”

  “I don’t care how much my dad needs me. I’d quit before pulling on a pair of coveralls.” Mac points to my cutoffs. “And you’re one to talk. You ride horses in tiny little shorts.”

  Nodding, I shrug again, but I smile, realizing how much I miss her. “When are we going to have a girl’s night?”

  Mac taps her finger to her chin, an exaggerated gesture. “Well, I have the auditors to deal with this month and a list of customers to hassle for payment. Plus about a half a ton of filing to do, so I’ll let you know when I can breathe again.”

  “So dramatic,” Nick says, and he takes another oversized bite of his sandwich. He has mustard on his lip, so I lean over and wipe it off for him.

  “Do you eat like this around your mother?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.

  “Maybe next week,” Mac finally concedes. “I’ll let you know. My summer session ends in a couple weeks so I’ll have more time after that, too.”

  “I know things are busy, so don’t fret, just thought I’d ask,” I say, though seeing her more often would be nice.

  “Spicy?” Nick asks, distracted by the jalapeño-flavored chips he’s holding up.

  “Don’t worry. Those are for us,” I say, reaching underneath the discarded sandwich wrappings and pulling out a small bag of Cheetos for him. “Just for you, my dear . . . since you can’t hang.”

  “Thanks, Mom!” He leans over and kisses my cheek.

  “By the way,” Mac says, taking a swig from her water bottle. “Nick tells me Reilly’s coming back.” Her voice is low and she glances between Nick and me. My muscles tense and my appetite diminishes. She regards me a moment longer before her eyes shift to Nick.

  “Yep,” he says, popping a Cheeto into his mouth. “He’s finished with his tour and he’s coming back to sell his dad’s house. It was John’s dying wish, I guess you could say.”

  “What does that mean?” Mac asks. I’m curious too.

  “His dad sent him a three-sentence note before he died—actually, Reilly didn’t get it until after. It said he knew he was a shitty dad but at least Reilly had the house he could sell off for the money. He said ‘consider it my dying wish,’ so that’s what Reilly’s doing.” Nick takes another bite of his sandwich.

  “Wow,” Mac mumbles. She swallows her mouthful of food, then asks, “So, Mr. Reilly didn’t even tell Josh he was sick? Otherwise he would’ve come home sooner, right, for the funeral at least.”

  Nick shakes his head. “Reilly had no idea. I mean, I’m sure a part of him knew his dad was sick, how could he not after all the smoking and the drinking and the shape he was in before Reilly even left, but you know they were never close. Reilly thinks his dad thought he was keeping it from him as a favor; Reilly didn’t have to worry about anything if he didn’t know about any of it. But I personally think that’s giving the old man too much credit.”

  I can hear the bitterness in Nick’s tone, and it makes me wonder how I could’ve forgotten how horrible Mr. Reilly was to his son. I’d heard their arguments firsthand, echoing off the lake some nights. It was how Reilly and I had gotten so close to begin with. I’d been the one to encourage him to leave, convince him that he deserved a better life away from his dad. That was before I’d fallen in love with him.

  “How horrible,” Mac says, and she trains her scrutinizing gaze on me. I can feel it burning a hole through me. Ignoring her, I brush the errant breadcrumbs off my lap.

  “How are you doing with all this, Sam? About Reilly coming back?”

  I clear my throat and act distracted, uncertain what she expects me to say. While part of me knows I should forgive and forget and move on from all that happened between us, I don’t like what him being home means and how hard it will be for me on top of everything else. “What can I do? It is what it is.”

  “True, but it can’t be that easy,” Mac says. “I know you still blame him for meddling—”

  “It’s not like he’s coming home to harass Sam,” Nick says in Reilly’s defense. He frowns at Mac. “He’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides,” he adds more quietly, “Sam’s the one who ended things with him.”

  “Yes, thank you, Nick. I don’t need the reminder,” I say tersely. “Everything will be fine. Can we drop it please?” The last thing I want to do is cause friction between the only two solid people in my life.

  Nick sighs. “Sam, you know I love you like a sister. And I know you and Reilly have some shit between you, but he’s leaving after he deals with his dad’s place. I’m sure that if he knows you don’t want to see him, he’ll give you your space.”

  “I know he’s not coming back here for me,” I say. “And it’s not that I don’t want to see him . . .” It’s just going to be excruciatingly hard. “Let’s talk about something else. Okay? Everything will be fine. I’ll be fine. I don’t expect anything to change.” But as I say the words, I have the sudden urge to cry for the first time in . . . a long time.

  “God, I love Schmitty’s sandwiches,” Mac practically moans as she takes the last bite of her sandwich.

  “Jesus,” Nick says, his face scrunched in disgust. “You need a man.” I almost snort as Mac opens her mouth, full of food, making Nick smile. I’m grateful they rally and change the subject, shifting the mood back to bearable.

  After shoving the last of my sandwich into my mouth, I lean back. “I think I ate too much.” I groan and let out a deep breath.

  “Same here.” Nick stands up. “And on that note . . .” He dry-washes his hands. “I need a cigarette.” He looks over at Mac. “You still smoking?”

  “Hell no, I stopped that last week.”

  Nick’s palms fly up defensively. “So sorry, I didn’t realize it had been so long since you kicked the habit.”

  I snicker as Mac chucks her balled-up sandwich paper at his face, our unsettling conversation all but forgotten.

  “There’s a fine for littering,” he chides, feigning seriousness, then he tosses Mac’s garbage into the deli bag full of our trash.

  “Machaela!” A deep voice rumbles out of the shop across the street. Then Mr. Carmichael steps out of the doorway.

  “Over here, Dad!”

  He holds up the phone. “Sorry to break up your lunch date, but Mr. Vasquez is on hold again, and I’m going to say something I’ll regret if you don’t come deal with this pompous asshole about his damn POS.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles and climbs to her feet. “I’m coming.” Mac tugs her skirt down and brushes the front of it off carefully.

  “Hey, Mr. Carmichael!” I shout and wave over at him.

  “Samantha,” he nods at me. “Nicholas.” Despite Cal Carmichael’s tattoos and motorcycles, he’s pretty old-school, which I’ve always liked about him. “Still smoking, I see.”

  Nick shrugs. “What can I say, it’s addicting.”

  “Alright,” Mac grunts as she leans down and kisses my cheek. “Next week we need to start thinking about our camping trip.”

  “Are we still doing it the weekend of the twenty-fourth?” Nick asks. “I need to request time off from Lick’s.” He crumples up the bag of garbage, handing it to Mac.

  “If that still works for you guys, then yeah. Otherwise it’s never going to happen.” Mac plants a goodbye kiss on Nick’s cheek. “I’ll reserve us a spot for two days, that’s all I can get off this time, sorry.”

  Nick and I nod as we gather the rest of our things. “I thought your dad said you could take off all the time you wanted since you’ve been slaving away for him so much lately,” I ask, wondering if he changed his mind.

  Mac practically scowls. “My dad doesn’t know what he needs. He can’t afford for me to take more than the weekend, since he’s closed anyway.
Besides,” she says, twirling her mahogany-colored hair over her shoulder. “Are you going to take a week off from the ranch?”

  I don’t appreciate the snide tinge in her voice and glare at her in reply.

  “That’s what I thought,” she says with a smile. “Now, love you both but gotta go.”

  I fold the blanket while Mac hurries back across the street toward the shop to deal with the Vasquez situation. “She’s got a point,” Nick comments, his hands crossed over his chest as we watch Mac chuck the garbage bag in the can outside the entrance to the shop, her bottle of water in the other hand.

  “Text you tonight!” she calls with a wave.

  I wave back, ignoring Nick’s comment.

  Nick’s arms wrap around me, a solid, strong hug that I wish I could take home with me for later when I’m alone with my thoughts. “If you won’t come out with me tonight, at least call me later if you change your mind,” he says, more seriously now. “I know today’s hard for you.”

  “Thanks, Nick,” I say sincerely and kiss his cheek. “But I’ll be okay.”

  He winks at me and heads to the Explorer. “See you when the rooster crows,” he calls, then climbs inside.

  With the blanket under one arm and my water bottle in the other hand, I make sure I have my keys before I meander toward the truck.

  And as if my mind thought I needed one more thing to think about, my memories drift back to the last time Reilly came home.

  * * *

  Three Years Ago

  I creep into the foyer where Mike stands just outside the door, only partially closed.

  “. . . you should’ve ended it a long time ago.” I hear a hard, angry growl. It’s Reilly. I haven’t talked to him in over a year, not since he called me after he’d gotten my letter. My heart stumbles and aches at the thought of him here. That he’s talking to Mike, that he’s trying to get him to leave me too, just like Reilly had done.