My horse, Bessie, twitched and stamped under me. The sky turned from brilliant pinks and oranges to crystal blue. I wanted Cynthia to see how amazing things could be here. But the week of the reunion didn’t go the way I planned.
This wasn’t the life she said she wanted.
But she fit in so well. The color deepened in her cheeks while she was here. And her smile—I hadn’t seen that wattage since that night on the trail.
I sighed and turned Bessie back toward the house. My morning inspection of the cattle completed—time to see what’s what. I did my best to avoid Cynthia this morning without appearing impolite.
I glanced up as I entered the yard and saw her walking out of Meemaw’s door. I hopped off my horse, walking over. I didn’t meet her gaze as I asked, “Said your goodbyes to Meemaw?”
She nodded, but didn’t say a word.
What’s going on in your pretty little head, darling?
I stare at her, hoping to find an answer, but none comes. “Well, I’ll walk you to your car.”
It can’t end like this.
But what do I say?
Her car came into view, the windshield glinting in the sunlight. She turned to me and said, “I had a great time this week, Tom. Your family is amazing. I’m sorry about yesterday and about the other things this week. I should have…”
“Don’t say another word about it, darling. It’s been done and forgotten.” If only there was time to tell her all about Meemaw’s first week on the farm. The hilarious stories were part of the family legend.
We reached her car. Make a move, Tom.
“I need to get going. I have a client meeting first thing tomorrow morning,” Cynthia said.
My gaze found hers and we stared at each other. My heart pounded louder than my horse’s hoofbeats on the hard-packed clay.
“Meemaw told me to watch out for deer,” she said, ripping my heart out with a repeated reminder of how much this girl fits here. With me.
“Did she now?” I used my fingers to lift her chin. Her sweet honeysuckle and vanilla aroma washed over me as I waited for her eyes to find mine again. With a rough voice, I explained, “That’s Alabama for I love you.”
Her eyebrows raised. “What?”
Does she know how beautiful she is?
Her sweet face. The depth in her eyes.
I need to kiss this girl.
“She doesn’t want you to die. It’s our way of letting someone know you care about ’em.”
I dragged a finger along her chin. Her breath caught as I nestled my hand into the golden locks covering the back of her neck. My fingers danced through the silky threads. She shivered and closed her eyes.
And that’s that. This girl is getting kissed.
Now.
Like two magnets being drawn together, the distance between us erased. With mere millimeters between us, I whispered, “Darling, we’ve been dancing around this all week.”
I gave her one last millisecond before my lips crashed into hers. Her familiar honeyed sweetness danced on my tongue as I deepened our kiss. She wrapped her arms around me and I pressed us into the car door.
This. This is exactly how it’s supposed to be.
I don’t want to kiss any other girl.
Ever.
I pulled away long before I wanted to, whispering, “That’s how our conversation yesterday was supposed to end.”
Then I grabbed the reins and swung up into the saddle.
“Watch out for the deer,” I said as I tipped my hat to her and clicked my heels into my horse. Not giving her a chance to respond.
How much of an idiot am I? looped through my mind on repeat as I rode to the barn was,
~
An hour later, my horse was back in its stall, freshly brushed and fed. I removed my hat and rubbed the sweat off my brow. I surveyed the barn. Morning chores done. Time to head back to the house to see if Momma or Meemaw need anything.
The entire way back, I berated myself for not waiting to see what Cynthia would have said. I walked through the yard to our house, noting the shadows the newly formed clouds created. I heard Meemaw yell from inside her house, “Thomas Bartholomew Wilson!”
Not good. The middle name only came out when you were in serious trouble with Meemaw.
I ran up the house steps, taking off my hat and opening the screen door. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t you take another step in here. You ain’t staying long,” Meemaw groaned as she stood up from the couch and shuffled across the worn-wood floors to me. The scent of menthol hitting me just before her finger.
“How could you let that girl go?” she accused, tapping my chest with her index finger on each word.
“Meemaw, it ain’t all up to me.” I raised my hands in a defensive gesture.
“You don’t kiss a girl like that, tell her to watch out for deer, and then walk away, boy. I got a mind to slap you upside the head.” Meemaw finished with a shake of her head and a pinch of her pale lips.
How in the world had she seen all that? My eyebrows raised and my mouth opened to question her.
“Tommy Boy, that is not the question you need answered right now.” Meemaw shook her head. “You should be asking what foolhardy idea told you to walk off without settling things with Cynthia.”
“I…” I stuttered, searching for a response.
“That’s right, I… You got no excuse. The porch light is on, but ain’t nobody home.” She tapped a finger to my forehead.
I stepped back. “Now, Meemaw—”
She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Listen, you love that girl. She loves you. I see it. Everybody sees it. You just failed to finish it. But now, you’re fixin’ to.” Meemaw held up her finger. “Hold there a minute.”
She shuffled down the narrow hallway to her bedroom. The sound of her old wooden dresser drawer opening and closing filled the silence as I waited. She lumbered back down the hallway, something in her fist.
“Put out your hand,” she said with more force than a grandmother should be able to muster.
I obeyed.
She dropped a small blue velvet box in my hand.
I know what this is.
It’s the engagement ring arthritis stole from her fingers.
The one Papaw gave her. The one that’s been in the Wilson family for years. The one my mother and my aunts had shown to Cynthia several days ago.
“You know whose finger that belongs on.” She said in a low voice as she pointed to the door.
I do, Meemaw.
My gut clenched and my heart skipped a beat. An image of Cynthia walking down an aisle created by our friends and family in a simple white dress with the ring on her finger flashed in my mind. Me under a canopy of flowers, standing in a freshly mowed field by the old baptismal, simple flowers and warm sunshine surrounding us.
I nod and put on my hat.
On the way out, Meemaw smacked me on the butt as she said, “Now, get to it.”
I run across the open space between the houses, feeling in my pocket for my keys. I hopped into my truck and pushed it to its limit, speeding to Cynthia with no idea what I was going to say when I got there. But proposal or not, this girl would have no question about how I felt by the end of this night.
No more waiting.
No more subtext.
Just good old-fashioned plain speak.
Hopefully, that would be enough…