Page 11 of Westin

He lifts a hand, the one holding his hat, and points. “You watch your mouth.”

“I didn’t say anything wrong,” I whisper.

His eyes flash. “You shut your goddamn mouth, Diane, or I’ll shut it for you.”

I’m going too far. Reluctantly, I do as he says and shut my mouth. He slams his hand on the counter to back up his words and strides from the kitchen. I wince as his boots echo until the screen door slams. I hear him calling one of the hired hands.

Wrathfully, I go back to my chores. One of my tasks is self-imposed, so I have to do it as quickly as possible so I don’t get accused of wasting time. Quietly, I tuck some shears and flowers from the side garden in a basket and disappear from the house.

A deer trail runs along the fence line to the west. I take it, hidden by the tall grass, until the ground flattens. Down below, a hundred yards off the path, is a little valley, the deepest point encircled by a wooden fence with a gate tied with twine.

I push it open and enter the Carter family cemetery. At the far end sit two metal plaques, one beside the other—my parents, who never really had a chance to live before an accident took them. I’m not sure how I should feel about their death. They’re my parents, but I never knew them.

To assuage my confusion, I keep their graves clean, the grass cut, and lay flower wreaths on them every week.

Beside them is my Nana’s grave, the only one in my immediate family with a headstone. It cost David and I a small fortune, money he complained loudly about having to spend. The only reason he did was because I cried in front of the funeral director, and he didn’t want to look bad.

I sink down, taking out the shears. The grass isn’t long, but I like it to be even all over. As I cut it back, I find myself chattering about everything.

Except the cowboy from Sovereign Mountain.

Those feelings are a little shameful.

I complain about David for a while and let Nana know I still hate the Garrisons. Then, we talk about the new calves and the ducklings we had this spring. Ants crawl over my bare feet and my neck sweats from the sun. I weave the flowers into three wreaths and lay them down, making sure everything looks perfect before getting up and brushing off my clothes.

I have to get home to my chores before anyone notices I'm gone.

By the time I’m done cleaning out the chicken coop and barn, it’s time to start dinner. I haul a load of green onions from the garden and start cutting them into a bowl on the porch. In the distance, I see David and Jensen on their horses in the side pasture.

Jensen runs a construction company, but he’s more of a cowboy than anything. He’s got no woman, no place to be other than wherever pleases him. Some days, he’s putting flooring in a house, and other days, he’s rounding up cattle at one of the ranches. No one really knows much about him, but he makes good money.

He’s also handsome, but not my type—not like the cowboy in the black hat.

Westin Quinn.

Not in a way that tugs at my mind at night and makes my face flush.

I wish I could say I forgot all about Westin, but I didn’t. I lay in bed all night with a strange warmth simmering deep inside,remembering how he looked me up and down. When I got up, there was a restless ache between my legs.

My cheeks are hot just thinking about him. I need to stop, so I haul the chopped onions inside and make dinner. I don’t try to eat with the men; I just go sit in Gracey’s stall in the barn. The sun sets through the window, casting a golden light down over my bare legs and feet.

I can’t get Westin Quinn off my mind.

I’m not totally sheltered. I know about sex in the abstract. I’ve skimmed salacious romances and seen a little porn by accident. When I was thirteen, Nana sat me down and gave me The Talk. She was straightforward but not particularly helpful in regards to what I feel now.

What I feel isn’t just mechanics; it’s a flood of all the little things I noticed about him yesterday. How square and strong his hands looked. How his eyes glittered beneath the brim of his hat. How good he smelled when he leaned close.

I shiver.

He looks like he knows all about dirty, shameful things that no one talks about in front of me.

The sun sets. My birthday is over, and no one came, least of all Westin Quinn. I peel myself off the stall floor. The barn is quiet; the only sound is frogs trilling in the pond at the bottom of the hill.

Wearily, I put the horses to bed and pull the barn door shut. Then, I go inside and clean up the dinner mess the men left. When I put the last dish away, I’m too tired to prepare my own meal, so I make bread with butter and carry it up to my room. The house is quiet, and I know David’s already asleep. The men have an early day tomorrow, although I don’t know where they’re headed.

Nana used to make cake for my birthday, vanilla with a dusting of powdered sugar and a single candle on top. I tear off a piece of bread and let it sit on my tongue, pretending it tastes like cake.

My throat is tight, but I get it down.

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