Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (70 page)

Brittany Ray.

I feel my heart pound, from shock and exhilaration and something more. The softness of her touch, the memory of her kiss.

Goddamn.

I shake my head and start walking.

BY THE TIME I make it back to the ranch it’s after eleven. The property sits, dark and still, the only light coming from the ranch hand’s cottage out on the edge of the field. Jake, my new hire, is probably watching ESPN reruns and drinking beer. I think about stopping by to join him, but I’m not in the mood. I’m too caught up in what just happened, with that heavy load of guilt, always sitting like iron in the back of my mind.

I make the rounds, checking the horses in the stable, testing the new gates in the paddock as I go. The smell of fresh paint is still lingering everywhere, mixing with the scent of hay and dirt and horse and country air.

Smells like home.

I have to grin at that. My mom would flip if anyone dared suggest the great Camille Covington’s perfect Charleston mansion smelled like an old stable, but even though I grew up in that house, it was never home to me. No, home was Grandpa Earl’s ranch, out here in the country. Every summer we got to spend here was like a gift: a whole month when we didn’t have to take tennis lessons at the country club, or dress for dinner, or stand around politely at my parents’ stuffy cocktail parties. A whole month when my brother and I weren’t paraded for the guests, like a prize they’d bagged on safari, some trophy to show off to prove their status as society elite. Jace was happy to play along, he always did anything to make them proud, but I never could stand it. I was the one sneaking out the bathroom window at the Governor’s Christmas party, or getting caught with one of the debutantes in the cloakroom closet.

Hell, sometimes I got caught with two.

Growing up in that house, life was full of rules and expectations and disappointment, but out here on the ranch, none of that mattered anymore. I learned it was all just static, a world my parents and brother may have bought into, but one that I didn’t need. Let Jace be the Golden Boy, stand beside our father at board meetings, and make small talk with my mother’s DAR friends; I was happy with the land and the horses and the distant horizon—and I swore I would leave all of their bullshit behind the first chance I got.

Except it didn’t turn out that way. Not even close.

My cell starts ringing as I head back to the main house. I know who’s calling, but guilt makes me pick up, all the same.

“Well, have you come to your senses yet?” Her voice rings with disapproval, clear down the line from Charleston.

“Mom…” I sigh, letting myself in. I flip the lights on, illuminating the homey, rustic main room still filled with grandpa’s old furniture and wood beams overhead. The main ranch house is open-plan, with a huge open fireplace dominating the room, and windows that look out over the paddock and fields.

“I can’t understand why you’d just take off like this, not even say goodbye.” Mom continues, “After we came all the way up for your graduation.”

“I told you not to,” I remind her. “What’s the use of some stupid ceremony when I already finished the credits? It’s all just for show.”

“It’s tradition,” my mom corrects, as if they’re not the same thing. “We’d planned a whole dinner, your father’s old classmates were coming. It was very embarrassing to have to cancel at the last minute.”

I make a beeline for the kitchen and take a beer from the fridge, gulping down half the bottle at once. I wonder for a moment if my parents even cared about my finishing college, or if, to them, it was just an excuse for another party, another way to brag to all their friends about their perfect family.

“So tell me, Hunter,” Mom changes tacks. “How long is this little rebellion of yours going to last? The summer? Longer?”

“It’s not a rebellion,” I growl, like I haven’t explained this a hundred times. “We had a deal, remember? I said I’d stick it out through school, but now I’m done. This is my life now.”

“Working on a ranch?” I can practically see my mom’s lip curl with disdain. “That’s not a life, not for a Covington.”

“It was good enough for grandpa.” I stroll over to the windows and rest my forehead against the cool glass. This was why I skipped graduation, and all my parents’ bullshit. The minute my last paper was done, I traded my birthday BMW in for a pick-up truck, threw some clothes in a bag, and hit the road. Eleven hours down the coast with nothing to do but think, but somehow, with every mile I felt lighter: driving away from their legacy, to a future of my own making.

“My father was a fool,” Mom replies bluntly. “What are you going to do for money out there? Don’t think your father and I are going to support this foolish plan.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” I state firmly. “Grandpa left me the land, and some left over, and I’ll earn the rest.”

“Training horses,” there’s that familiar sneer again. “Honey, I don’t know where this is coming from. We had it all planned out: Yale, then law school—“

“I never wanted to go to law school,” I interrupt, clenching my fist. This is what she does, badger you with her own plans until it’s easier to go along with it all.

But not this time. I’ve had enough.

“Then business school,” my mom corrects, “Or even straight to the company, working with your dad. We’ve been talking, and there’s a seat opening up on the board—“

“No, mom, stop it!” My voice rings out, harsh, and there’s silence.

“I’m sorry,” I bite back my frustration, “But you’re not listening. I’m not coming home, I’m not joining the firm. This is it, mom, it’s done.”

“I just can’t stand to see you throwing away all your potential. You’re not a kid anymore, Hunter. You have responsibilities.” She tries again, but it’s late, and I’m too tired for this. Seeing Brit again like that has got me on edge, too wound up to go another ten rounds with my mother and wind up exactly where we started.

“I got to go mom,” I tell her. “You take care, OK?”

“Hunter—”

I hang up, and take a deep breath, gazing out at the dark fields. It’s quiet out there, unnervingly so. This empty space is still new to me, echoing nothing but the chirp of the crickets in the grass. Back at college, lights blazed everywhere, and noise too; late night parties in the dorm, and 24/7 takeout joints lining the streets in the student ghettos. I could always find a distraction, something to block my own thoughts, but here, the nearest property is over a mile away, and tonight, there’s nothing but silence.

I go get another beer and flip the TV on to drown the quiet. Some old movie is playing,
Cool Hand Luke
, but I can’t concentrate. As two beers turn into four, and five, I slip into a sleepy haze and the memories start coming. The way I knew they would; the way they always do.

* * * * *

“BET YOU TEN BUCKS.”

“Dude, make it fifty.”

“That’s right, I forgot, you’ve got that graduation check burning a hole in your pocket.” I laugh, passing Jace the blunt to smoke. “Or should I call it the down payment on your soul?”

“Aww, man, don’t say it like that.” Jace exhales in a long sigh, smoke billowing out over the dock. He looks at the joint. “This is good stuff, where’d you find it?”

I shrug. “Some guy at a bar. And don’t change the subject. I can’t believe you’re signing up to play dad’s lapdog come fall.”

Jace rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I won’t even be in his department, I bet I won’t see him at all.”

“Except for lunch, and client dinners, and weekends playing golf at the club…” I tease, only half-joking. “I’m serious, man. Working in that place is like a death sentence. They’ll have your name over the door before you know it. Covington and Son.”

“Sons,” Jace corrects me with a smirk. “You know he’ll be gunning for you too. Just a matter of time.”

I groan, reaching for the joint again. “You ever think what it would be like if we weren’t… us?” I ask, wistful. The ocean is dark and limitless beyond the harbor, and I wonder for the hundredth time what it would be like to sail off to nowhere. “Just two regular kids, I mean, with none of this Covington bullshit to deal with.”

Jace looks at me like I’m crazy. “You want to be just another regular Joe? We’re lucky. We can do anything we want.”

“Anything mom and dad want.” I correct.

He laughs. “You’ll see. You’ll grow up soon, and you’ll realize people don’t get breaks like us. We can run this whole damn state one day. Congressman. Governor. ”

“Why stop there?” I remark, sarcastic. “Why not make it President?”

“Why not?” Jace gives me a grin so cocky I have to toss a bag of chips at him.

“Douche.”

“Asshole.”

“Dickwad.”

Jace launches himself at me, and we tumble to the dock, tussling the way we’ve done ever since he was old enough to get me in a choke hold. For years, I struggled uselessly in his grips—four years older is a lot in kid wrestling terms—but ever since I filled out and made the football team as a linebacker, I’ve given him a run for his money.

This time, I nearly have him, until Jace flips me out of nowhere, and I wind up slammed facedown on the dock. “I get it, dude,” I protest, slamming the boards in defeat. “You’re still in shape—for an old man.”

“Watch it, kid.” Jace offers a hand to pull me back up. “I can still take you here, or out there.” He nods at the dark water.

“So put your money where your mouth is.”

“I got a better idea.” Jace gives me a grin. “I win, you have to go talk to that waitress you’ve been drooling over.”

I tense. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t give me that.” He punches my arm. “I’ve seen you. The jailbait one at Mrs. Olson’s, she keeps dying her hair all those crazy colors.”

I shrug, as if I don’t know who he means. “Plenty of girls in this town.”

Jace isn’t fooled. “Whatever, dude. I’ve heard people talk, she could show you a real good time.”

“Don’t say that.” My reply comes out harsh, and Jace raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“See, I knew you liked her.”

“I don’t,” I answer automatically. “I just… I don’t listen to gossip, is all. We don’t know her.”

“We know she wears that black dress thing real well.” Jace smirks again, and I feel anger rise up in my chest.

“Leave it.” I warn him.

He holds his hands up, “Whoa, I get it. Off-limits.” He reaches for his beer and swallows back the rest of the bottle. “So, we doing this or what?” Jace nods at the water.

“Sure.” I reply, glad to change the subject. “Get ready to pay, old man, ‘cause you’re going down.”

* * * * *

THE SOUND OF infomercials wakes me.

I sit up, my head pounding, and squint at my watch. It’s 4:00 a.m. and dawn is breaking outside on the far horizon.

I pull myself up off the couch and go fix myself a coffee, pouring in a splash of whiskey to take the edge off my headache as I head out onto the back porch. I settle in the swing, watching the sun slowly edge up over the trees, dark skies brightening with the new day.

Slowly, the ache in my chest eases. Like every morning, I wait–– wait for the shadows of the night to drift away. For the memories to tuck themselves away in the back of my mind for another night. For the world to slip back in focus.

Just one more day, trying to feel human.

They say it gets better in time, but I’m still waiting. Even now, I still wake to nights so dark I don’t think I’ll live to see dawn. Nights when a bottle of whiskey is my only friend, and the past is a knife, slicing through the façade I’ve built and digging deep into my heart.

It’s in those darkest hours that I find myself reaching for the memory of her, like a kid grabbing at his blanket after waking from a bad dream.

Brit.

Funny, how the idea of someone can mean so much. It was just a few hours we spent together all those years ago, but I’ve clung to the memory of her strength and tenderness, like the only light in my darkness. A north star, guiding me on, making me believe that for all my guilt and grief, I could feel something more too. A moment of peace, some glimmer of joy.

She saved me, and she doesn’t even know it.

The irony makes me smile, but it’s a bitter one, edged with rueful resignation.
You’re a damn fool, Hunter Covington
, I tell myself, taking another gulp of bitter black coffee. I’m not crazy, I’ve known all along that the girl in my mind doesn’t exist anymore – if she ever did to begin with. It was just a summer fling. Some boy she hooked up with back when she was too young to know any better. It’s not like she even stuck around to see morning with me.

But I’ve kept her with me all this time, like a photo tucked in my wallet, or a letter pressed against a soldier’s chest, folded safely like a reminder of better times. Something to hold onto, some reason to believe.

And now, she’s real again.

I think back to last night, greedily pulling apart the details in my mind. The cutoff denim miniskirt, barely covering her creamy, pale thighs. Her petite frame, lush curves straining at the edge of her bra. And that face…

I’ve often wondered if my memory was playing tricks on me: if any girl could be as gorgeous as my memory of her. I figured reality had faded under my imagination, painting her more lovely than the truth.

I was right. My memories were all wrong. Because Brit is even more stunning now than I thought possible.

Heart-stopping. Soul-crushing. Beautiful.

I feel a surge of desire and let out a ragged sigh. Yeah, I’m a fool alright. A fool for coming back here. A fool to cling on to the vision of a girl I barely even know.

And a fool for wanting her so desperately, all over again.