The sun had long ago set, and the little dirt roads on the ranch had begun to ice back over from lack of use. I peered down my lane to see, what else, Jonah’s four-wheeler setting at the base of the trailer.
I popped up the steps and blew through the door in attempt to discover something but, instead of the debauchery I expected, I found both of them on opposite ends of the banquette, laughing at something altogether innocent.
“Hello there, idiot,” Bridge greeted.
“Nice,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What’s up, Jonah?” I asked him, raising one brow.
He startled. “Uh, I better get going. See you tomorrow,” he called toward me and opened the door, but before he left, he turned toward Bridge. “Same time?” he asked her.
“Yup, see you then,” she answered, smiling.
I shook my head and decided to ignore it. I was exhausted and sore and dirty as shit. I wanted a shower. I shut the accordion door to our “bedroom” and tore off my clothing, tossing it into the corner I kept my dirty stuff.
I was beyond pissed when the door wouldn’t close to the bathroom. With more force than necessary, I slammed the thing closed. I started the water and waited for it to start steaming before attempting to get inside. A few days before, I jumped in without thinking and almost froze to death.
Stepping into the tiny stall didn’t add to improving my mood, as the water was barely warm. I ducked as usual to wash my hair and considered plugging the damn tub just to get some semblance of normality.
I washed quickly and dried just as quickly. I was feeling incredibly restless. You need to get out. I dressed warmly and decided to walk the property, maybe check out the family’s original buildings. I rummaged underneath the kitchen sink and found a flashlight.
“Where are you going?” Bridge asked.
“Out. I need to get out.”
She nodded, accepting this.
I bounded out into the snow and almost turned back around. I trudged forward and came to the top of our lane, hooking a left toward the old buildings. It was a good mile walk, but I needed to rid myself the terrible itch I could feel rising in the pit of my stomach. That itch I got whenever I wanted to run away from something I didn’t like. Except this time I had no idea what I wanted to run from. Bullshit, I told myself. You know exactly why you want to run. The difference this time is you want to run toward the main house, up those stairs and into the room of that incredible girl. I outwardly cringed, unable to hide how I really felt, especially not from myself.
I got lost in thought. Internal arguments demanding I get the hell over myself, that I forget her, distance myself from her only to turn around and ask what was the worst thing that could happen and asking myself if I could steal her away from Ethan. You’ve done worse, I rationalized. And I had. I had done terrible, awful, incredible things to people. People I didn’t even know. Maybe this is one person you should let be.
I’d made my decision, convinced I wouldn’t even try to become her friend. Too complicated, I thought. And before I realized, I’d stumbled upon the first small building. I noticed there was light inside and flipped off my flashlight before circling the front, curious. I found a window, but the glass was so old and cloudy, you could hardly see into the lit room. I pressed my face against the glass.
Oh...no. No.
Cricket was inside, blasting a few tunes in a light denim button-up that fit so snugly I almost fell over. The sleeves were rolled up to allow her to work, and the shirt was tucked into a pair of high-waisted denim shorts with two rows of brass buttons down the front panel. My gaze followed down her short but beautiful legs to knee-highs. Her hair was wrapped in a bright red headscarf. Like a modern day frickin’ Rosie the Riveter. And so unbelievably sexy. I could not compare her to anyone. When I looked on her, I couldn’t even tell you that other women existed.
My hand tugged down my face. Suddenly, I felt stifling and had to pull off my knit cap and scarf. I swallowed. Turn. Turn and run and get out. Turn, I ordered myself.
But that’s not what I did. Oh no. No, I was a glutton for punishment, it seemed. Instead of doing what I should, I did what I couldn’t help, and knocked. I watched her reaction through the window. She dropped the pieces of scrap metal she’d been rummaging through and came to the door.
I stood upright once more and checked myself. The door swung open and the scented candle she was burning bowled me over. The smell of baking chocolate cake swarmed around me, and all I wanted to do was taste Cricket.
My mouth gaped open, ready to speak, but no words would come. Her face flamed red.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her hands going to her naked thighs. “I thought you were my grandmother. She checks on me sometimes.”
“I-I was taking a walk and saw the light on.” I swallowed, my gaze raking her body. She was covered pretty much from head to toe, but no matter how hard Cricket tried, she couldn’t hide her curves. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?” I asked.
“No,” she said, taking a deep breath. She opened the door wider and invited me in.
Careful. Be careful, Spencer.
Inside, it was incredibly warm. In the corner sat a wood burning stove and it looked like she’d put on a fresh log. I absently noted that she intended to stay for a while. I removed my jacket and placed it along with my cap and scarf on a table near the door. I studied my surroundings and discovered there were shelves and tables scattered in disarray around the room and were full of fascinating sculptures. My eyes lingered on one. The head of Winston Churchill.