Calmly, Carefully, Completely (6 page)

Reagan

I try not to look toward the fire as I sneak out to the barn. I know Pete’s still sitting there, and he’s not alone. There are two males in profile, and I don’t know who the second one is. I pat my leg so that my Maggie will follow me. She’s old and can’t see as well as she once did, but I feel safe in the dark with her. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, and I love that about her. I don’t have to worry about anyone walking up behind me and me not knowing.

I step into the barn and close the door behind us. Maggie circles around me, her black-and-white coat in strict contrast with the muted colors of the barn. I jump toward her, and she dances back playfully. Even as old as she is, she can still run circles around me.

I step up to the stall door and lean over the cord that’s blocking the opening. I have a horse that’s due to foal any day now. Her name’s Tequila, and she’s my favorite of all my horses.

She’s not lying down or sweating yet, so I’m guessing it’s not going to be tonight that she foals. I duck under the rope that blocks her stall door and rub her gently behind her ears. She pushes her face into my hand, and I laugh.

Suddenly, Maggie stills beside me and the hair at the back of her neck stands straight up. A low growl erupts from her throat, and I stop petting Tequila and step closer to the horse. My heart begins to thud in my chest.

“Hello,” a voice calls. Maggie hunkers down, and her growl grows even more vicious. God, I love this dog. The shadow comes closer, and Maggie barks in warning. “Oh shit,” someone says, and the shadow moves back.

“Who’s there?” I ask.

“It’s Pete,” the voice says.

My shoulders sink, and I force myself to take a deep breath. I don’t let go of Tequila’s halter, and I don’t come out from behind her. “You shouldn’t be in here,” I call.

“Well, I’ll be happy to leave if you’ll call off your beast,” he says. Maggie crouches and slinks forward, and the sounds that come from her throat are scaring even me. “Please,” he says. His voice quivers.

“Mags,” I snap. She turns and looks at me. I pat my leg, and she rushes to me. I pet her soft fur. “Good girl,” I croon. Maggie takes her cues from me, and she’s now wary but she doesn’t want to kill anybody.

“Remind me not to ever walk up on you in the dark again,” Pete says. He wipes his hand across his forehead.

I laugh. “I doubt you’ll need a reminder.” I jerk a thumb toward the bathroom at the end of the barn. “Do you need to go and change your pants?” A grin tugs at my lips. I try to bite it back, but it’s nearly impossible.

Pete looks down at his shorts. “I think I’m good for now.” He bends his knees and squats down close to the floor. He holds out a hand for Maggie to come and sniff. “Now, if she takes off a digit, I’ll be singing a different tune.” He laughs.

Maggie slinks slowly toward him. She’s still wary, but she’s calm. I’m not sure I like the idea of my dog getting friendly with a stranger. “Mags,” I call, and she rushes back to me. “Don’t try to schmooze my dog into liking you,” I warn.

He raises his brow.

“She’s trained to protect me,” I rush to explain. She goes back and forth to my apartment in the city with me, even though I’m sure she likes it more here on the farm. But I need her. In more ways than one.

He nods, leaning against the open stall door. He jams his hands in his pockets. “I saw you and thought you might want some company.”

“I already have company,” I say. I probably sound like a shrew, but we got a little too close by the fire and I’m feeling the effects of it now.

“What’s his name?” he asks, nodding toward my horse.

I smile a completely unbidden smile. “Her name’s Tequila,” I say, scratching my horse affectionately.

Pete steps closer, and Tequila swishes her tail in his face. He brushes it away, spitting as he wipes his mouth. I laugh.

“You haven’t been around horses much, have you?” I ask.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been in a room with one before,” he says, picking at his tongue with his thumb and index finger. He spits again and finally looks satisfied after wiping his mouth with his forearm.

“I got another of your firsts,” I say. I immediately realize my mistake and try to take it back. “I mean—”

But he holds up a hand and grins. “Hey, if I had all my firsts to give you, I would.” His eyes meet mine, and a spark jumps between us.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’d have liked to have had the choice of who to give mine to. But I didn’t. And that’s over, I remind myself.

“You okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

I nod. “Fine.”

I step out from behind Tequila. I still have Maggie between us, and Maggie would never let anything hurt me. Tequila’s low on water, so I grab the hose and fill her up. Pete jumps when I accidentally spray his shoes.

“Sorry,” I say. I really didn’t mean to do that. I bite my lower lip and avoid his gaze.

“A little water never hurt anyone,” he says with a shrug. I think I hear him mutter something that sounds like “I could use a little cooling off,” but that might just be wishful thinking. He grins at me. He’s so damn cute. His eyes are bright blue, I know, but in the low light of the barn, they look almost sapphire. They’re rimmed by dark lashes that are so thick they’re feminine, but there’s nothing girly about him. He’s all man, from the width of his shoulders to the quirk of his grin. He’s about a head taller than I am, but for some reason, I don’t feel intimidated by his size. That’s probably because he hasn’t touched me.

“You should take a picture, princess,” he says with a grin. “It’ll last longer.”

Heat floods my face, and I look away.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I was just kidding.” He steps toward me, his eyebrows drawing together.

I take a deep breath and force my insides to settle. I feel like there’s a Ping-Pong ball in my belly that keeps dropping toward my toes. Humor usually works in these situations, so I try that. “I can’t help it if you’re made to stare at.” I grin.

This time, it’s his face that floods with heat if the color on his cheeks is any indication. “You think I’m pretty,” he says, smiling. He’s all swagger all of a sudden.

“
Pretty
is not a word I would use to describe you,” I say, laughing.

He leans casually against the stall door again. “Then what would you use?”

“Full of it,” I toss out.

He laughs.

I take another deep breath. “Why are you here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I thought you might want some company.” His gaze searches mine, and it’s so intense that I have to break away.

“I figured you’d be too worried about your nuts to come around me again,” I tease. Laughter seems to be the best way to get around this man’s poignant pauses.

“You let me worry about my nuts.” He laughs and looks down. “Well, you can worry about them, too, but I take full responsibility for their safety.”

I laugh. He’s really pretty funny. “We can both worry about your nuts,” I say with a smile. I chance a glance at him, and he’s looking closely at me. Too closely. Laughter. I need to say something funny. But nothing comes to me. I bite my tongue because I don’t want to say the wrong thing.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks. He looks surprised by his own question, and I assume he wants to take it back. But he doesn’t. He just looks at me expectantly.

“Define
out
?” I say.

He grins. “You and me on a date.”

He doesn’t have a car, and he just got out of prison. A date might be kind of difficult. But I can’t say that. I’ll hurt his feelings. “What kind of date?” I ask instead.

“The kind where you and I spend some time together,” he says with a shrug.

“We’re doing that now,” I inform him.

“Well, damn,” he sings. “You’re right.” He looks around at the horses. “Next time, remind me to take you someplace nicer.”

I laugh. He smiles at me.

“That’s a beautiful sound,” he says quietly.

I look at Tequila and pat her behind. “Did you pass gas, girl?” I ask. I grin at him. “Sorry, but she can be kind of noisy.”

He smiles and rubs his chin. I bet it’s scratchy under his fingertips, and if I were another person, I would want to touch it to find out. “And she’s funny, too,” he says under his breath.

I smile and motion toward the door. “We had better get out of here before my dad comes after you,” I say. But I’m not worried about my dad. I’m worried about me. Because I like this man. A lot.

“Can I walk with you back to the house?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. He’s so damn cute. And he makes my insides quiver. I’m not sure the latter is a good thing.

I nod, and he steps up beside me and then opens the barn door for me. He holds the door open and lets me and Maggie through. His shoulder bumps mine, and I step away from him. He leans his head down close to me. “Do I smell bad?” he asks.

I lean closer to him and inhale. “Not that I can tell,” I reply quietly. He smells like citrus and outdoors, just like I remember from that night. And I want to bury my face in his chest and drink him in. But I can’t.

“Just checking,” he says with a laugh. “Every time I get close to you, you move away,” he says casually. But there’s nothing casual about the comment. Nothing at all.

I point to my chest. “I’ve been working all day…and messing with the horses. I was worried that I was the one who smelled bad.”

He looks into my face, and I can’t draw my eyes away. “You smell like lemons and raindrops.” He closes his eyes and inhales. “And all things innocent.”

I freeze. “That is where you would be completely wrong,” I say.

“You’re guilty?” he asks. “Of what?” His blue eyes narrow.

“Of trusting the wrong person,” I say quietly.

“I don’t want you to trust me,” he says. “I want you to be very, very wary of me. And every other man you meet.”

I inhale deeply through my nose. “No problem there,” I finally say. Most men fight with me to get me to trust them.

“I don’t even trust myself most days,” he says. I think he’s playing at first, but he’s dead serious.

“Why not?” I whisper.

“I’m not trustworthy,” he says quietly.

I pull a lock of hair from where it’s stuck to my mouth and lick my lips. He watches me closely. “I promise not to trust you,” I whisper.

“Good,” he whispers back, very dramatically.

We arrive at my door, and I turn to face him. “Thanks for walking me back,” I say. I lay a hand on my chest. “It was such a long way,” I say, trying to sound like Scarlett O’Hara. “I never would have made it by myself.”

He grins. “My job here is done.”

“Good night,” I say.

He closes one eye and looks at me with the other for a moment. “Can I kiss you yet?” he asks.

I shake my head, and my insides do that quivery little dance again. “No,” I whisper. “I’m afraid not.”

He whispers again, “Can I keep asking?” He grins.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I admit. He smiles. This time, it’s not playful. I think it’s all Pete. It’s all swagger and confidence.

He turns to walk away, calling, “Good night, princess,” over his shoulder.

“’Night,” I toss back. I look up and see my dad glaring at me through the kitchen window. “Dad,” I gripe, as he opens the back door for me.

“Was that Pete?” he asks. Maggie goes to lie at his feet.

I nod. “That was Pete.”

He gnaws on his fingernail. “Should I be worried?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” he breathes, and he deflates like a relaxed balloon. He leans forward, pulling my head toward his with his beefy arm. “Good night,” he says, kissing my temple.

“Good night, Dad,” I say. He turns and goes upstairs. I look out the kitchen window at the first man I have ever truly wanted to kiss. But I can’t. I just can’t. I know this is going to end badly.

Reagan

Sometimes I wake up with the weight of my memories draped over me like a heavy, wet, woolen blanket. One that weighs me down and makes it impossible to get out of bed. But today, I blink my eyes open and there’s no sticky blood on my fingertips and my lashes aren’t matted together from waking up with screams trapped in my throat.

Today, I wake up…hopeful. I don’t even know if that’s the right word for it. It kind of feels like Christmas morning. The one you experience even after you know Santa’s not real, but you anticipate the warm and fuzzy feelings that come with the holiday. You rip open your presents and watch your parents exchange gifts that mean something to them. That’s how I’m feeling today. And I’m not completely sure I like it.

The girls were here for camp last month, and I didn’t feel this giddy because of them being here, so I don’t think it’s the camp that made me want to rush outside today. It’s Pete. And I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to like him as much as I do.

In a perfect world, I could date him. But my world’s not perfect. And it hasn’t been for quite some time.

I get dressed and pull my hair into a ponytail. We’re going to be working with the horses today before it gets too hot. The boys love to take short rides around the paddock. Some of these kids have never been on a horse before.

I walk outside, and I can smell the aroma of bacon on the griddle. My dad tried hiring a catering service, but he really likes cooking for the kids, and it seems to work better when he throws some bacon on a skillet, scrambles eggs, and offers fruit, yogurt, milk, and cereal to everyone. There’s something for every kid, even with some of the boys’ bizarre dietary restrictions.

The men from the prison are acting as waiters right now, and they’re doing a good job at it. Pete’s working in the middle of two tables. He’s signing to some kids and joking with others. He’s really good with the adolescents. Gonzo says something to him, and I see Pete hold up his hand to block everyone else from seeing it as he shoots Gonzo the middle finger. Gonzo laughs, and I force myself to close my jaw.

Pete looks over and catches my eye. My heart trips a beat. “Morning, princess,” he says quietly, his voice lazy and uncomplicated. But that’s a lie. Everything about this man is complex. There’s nothing that’s not complicated about this man.

“Morning,” I say back. I squeeze Gonzo’s shoulder as I walk by him, and he beams at me. “Sleep well, Gonzo?” I ask.

He grins and signs something to Pete. “What did he say?” I ask Pete.

“You don’t want to know,” Pete says with a grimace. He glares at Gonzo. “Watch your manners, Karl,” he warns. His voice is stern, and Gonzo hangs his head. That’s the first time I’ve heard Pete call him by his real name. Pete stands up and goes to get a fork for one of the other boys. He’s still glaring at Gonzo, and now I’m dying to know what he said to earn such disfavor from Pete.

“What did I miss?” I ask, looking back and forth between them.

“Some adolescent humor,” Pete grumbles, looking at Gonzo from beneath lowered lashes. Pete reaches for a salt shaker for another of the boys. “Which wasn’t amusing.”

Gonzo signs something quickly to Pete. “I know that was meant for me,” Pete says quietly, staring into Gonzo’s eyes. “But she’s sitting right here, and it’s rude to talk in front of her unless I can tell her what you said.” He grumbles something and then says, “And I wouldn’t repeat what you just said for a million dollars.” He holds up his hands as though he’s saying
what the fuck
. “You don’t talk like that in front of girls, dude.” He jabs a fork at Gonzo. “When we’re alone, you can talk all the shit you want. And it might even be funny.”

Gonzo taps me on the shoulder so I look at him. He signs something with his fist close to his chest. The color on his cheeks is high.

“He said sorry,” Pete grumbles. Gonzo signs something else and then blinks his eyes at me, batting his thick lashes. “He wants to know if you forgive him.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say. I still don’t know what he said, so I don’t know why I should be offended. But Pete’s so serious that I feel like I need to play along.

“Gonzo, go ahead and get suctioned or whatever it is you do so we can be ready for the first activity,” Pete says.

Gonzo grins and signs something. But he leaves. Pete shakes his head. More boy humor?

One of the caregivers rounds up the rest of the boys at the two tables Pete was in charge of so they can get the kids ready for the morning. Pete sits down and heaves a sigh. “That kid reminds me of my brothers,” he says, but a grin tugs on the corners of his lips.

“You that tough on your brothers?” I ask.

He chuckles. “I’m the youngest. So, it’s usually me saying something inappropriate and them trying to make me shut up.”

“What did he say?” I ask. I’m dying to know. But something tells me he’s not going to tell me anything.

His gaze is hot, his eyes hooded when they meet mine. “If you must know, it had to do with morning wood.” He raises a brow at me, and I choke on my own spit. He laughs and raises a brow. “Should I continue?”

I hold up a hand to stop him. “I could go a lifetime without knowing any more about that conversation.” I think about it for a minute, though. “Is that something boys talk about?” I ask quietly, just because I’m curious.

He pulls his chin toward his chest and looks down at me. “Don’t go there, princess,” he warns, his voice suddenly husky.

“I was just curious,” I murmur. But I feel the need to explai
n myself. “My brother’s has autism
and barely speaks, so I don’t know how boys behave.” I lay a hand on my chest, slightly abashed at what I’m about to admit. “When girls get together we talk about everything.” I look into his eyes, and they’re suddenly half-lowered and smoldery. My heart thumps. “About men, mostly.” Heat creeps up my cheeks.

His voice is barely a whisper when he says, “Go there, princess.” His eyes twinkle.

“Well, apparently, Gonzo wants to talk to you like I’d talk to my girlfriends.”

“And he can, when we’re alone. Just like I told him.” He isn’t smiling anymore. He turns to face me. “I’m not going to hurt the kid. I won’t even hurt his feelings. But I’m also not going to treat him like he’s made of glass. He’s had enough of that.”

“Okay,” I say quietly. I’ll drop it. For now at least.

Pete smiles. He nods his head toward where my dad’s taking up the last piece of bacon. “Breakfast?” he asks.

“Have you eaten yet?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “Too busy so far.” He looks at me. “Join me?” He leans close and whispers, “This would be our second date.”

I roll my eyes and walk toward my dad, who hands me a plate heaping with food. “I can’t eat all that, Dad,” I complain.

Pete eyes the plate, licking his lips, and my dad shoves it toward him instead. I go to get a bagel, some cream cheese, and a chocolate milk. Pete sits across from me and starts to unroll his plasticware. He eyes my chocolate milk. “Do you want one?” I ask, and then I take a sip of my milk, looking at him over the top of the carton.

He waits until I set it down and reaches for my milk. He says, “Thanks,” and then tips it up to drink from it. His lips press where mine just were, and my belly flips. I look away because I am afraid of what I’ll see if I look into his blue eyes right now.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says. He gets up and gets another milk, opens it, and hands it to me. I look directly into his eyes and reach past his outstretched arm to take back my original milk, lifting it to my lips. “Jesus Christ,” he breaths quietly. He looks over his shoulder to where my dad’s standing, talking with some of the men from the prison program. “If your father has any clue what’s going on in my head, he’ll chop my nuts off for sure.”

I clear my throat because I can’t talk past the lump in it. “What’s going on in your head?” I ask quietly.

He stares at me and shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He looks down at his plate and takes a deep breath, and then starts to eat. He chews for a minute and then leans forward like he wants to tell me a secret. He pulls back and shakes his head.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He keeps eating.

“I hate it when people do that,” I say, more to myself than to him.

He heaves a sigh. “What’s going on in my head is even more fucked up than what’s going on my pants, if you must know my innermost thoughts, princess.” He taps his forehead with the tines of his plastic fork. “Fucked up.”

I swallow so hard I can hear it. “Fucked up how?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

I repeat myself, in case he didn’t hear me. “Fucked up how?” I set my bagel to the side.

He leans close to me and crooks a finger, beckoning me to do the same. I lean toward him.

“You got me so fucking turned on I couldn’t stand up if the place were on fucking fire, princess.” He points toward my chocolate-milk container. “And all you did was touch your pretty little lips to a fucking milk carton.” He rubs his forehead as if he wants to rub the thoughts away. He looks into my eyes. “All I know is if you ever touched me with that mouth of yours, I would go off like a cannon, princess. I’d be the happiest man in the world, but ashamed of myself, because I have no control when it comes to you, apparently.” He grimaces and looks down toward his lap, adjusting his pants as he wiggles his hips. “Our situation is messed up for so many reason that I can’t even think about going there with you. But all I can think about is
going there
with you.” He groans and shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth. His eyes don’t leave mine, though. “I got up this morning thoroughly prepared to ignore you today. But then there you were, and you were smiling at me.” He looks down at my mouth. “I couldn’t ignore you if I tried.”

I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize my thoughts. But I can’t. I have never, ever felt like this before. My girlfriends have talked about it, but I have never felt it. Even when I go on dates, it’s like some part of me shuts down. But with Pete, nothing shuts down. Everything wakes up.

He goes on to say, “I don’t want to want you.”

My heart stutters. I get it. I don’t like it. But I get it. I nod. Nobody likes damaged goods.

I get up from the table and pick up my plate.

“Wait,” he calls.

I can’t wait. If I wait, he might see the tears that are brimming in my eyes.

“Princess,” he calls again. Suddenly, my shirt jerks and I can’t walk any farther. I look back and see his hand twisted in the tail end of my shirt. He leans over the table and presses his lips together. “Don’t walk away,” he says.

But all I see is the hand fisted in my shirt. My heart stutters, and my breaths freeze in my chest. I can’t get away. I turn back and punch him directly in the face with the heel of my hand. He jerks, his eyes closing as he winces and snaps his head back. I chop his wrist with my fist. One, two… Next, I’ll go for his eyes.

“Reagan!” Dad yells as he drops what he’s holding and rushes in my direction. He tackles Pete, who is still stunned from my punch to the face. They drop to the ground, with Pete rolling to the bottom. Dad flips him over and pulls his hands behind his back. “Reagan,” Dad grunts. “What happened?”

Pete lays there on the ground. He’s not even putting up a fight. He just winces, his eyes shut tightly as a slow trickle of blood streams from his nose.

“Stay down,” Dad warns.

Pete nods, and he doesn’t move. But his eyes finally open, and they meet mine. I don’t how to interpret that look at all or what to say. So, I turn and run back to the house. I run like the terrified little girl I am.

I burst through the back door and land in my mother’s arms. She grunts when I hit her in the chest, but it doesn’t stop her from hugging me tightly. “What in the world,” she breathes as she rocks me.
She holds me close, stroking my hair until I can breathe. Then she pulls back, takes my face in her hands, and forces me to look at her. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she says.

“I think I made a mistake,” I sob.

“What happened?” she asks as she leads me to the kitchen table. She points to a chair, and I sink into it.

“Nothing,” I squeak, finally able to catch my breath.

I can’t believe I did that. I just assaulted some poor man who did nothing but flirt with me and then tell me he didn’t want to want me. I can’t tell my mother that.

She puts her hands on her hips. “It’s not nothing,” she insists.

The back door opens, and the evidence of my shame walks in behind my dad and Link. I wince and look everywhere but at Pete. “Can you get Pete some ice for his eye?” Dad asks my mom. Her brow arches at me, and she shoots me a glare that would drop a full-grown man in his tracks.

She starts to fill a zipper bag with ice. “And just why does Pete need ice for his eye?” she asks flippantly.

Dad points to me. “Your daughter hit him in the face.”

Mom gasps. “Reagan!”

Mom crosses to stand close to Pete. She looks him over, pressing on the bone beneath his eye with her thumb. He hisses in a breath. One side of his face is dirty, probably from where Dad rolled him into the dirt. Mom passes him a damp cloth, and he wipes gingerly at his face. When it’s clean, Mom presses his eye socket with the pad of her thumb. He winces and jerks his head back.