Page 8 of The Stars in the Sky
Check Yes or No
WILL PUT TWO FINGERS up to his seductive, full lips, whistled, a loud, piercing whistle, and yelled, "C'mon girl!"
For a second, I thought he was talking to me, and I went to put my hands to my hips and say "Excuse me?" or a whole lot worse, but then a beautiful, white and mottled gray Australian Shepherd dog came bounding up to him, circled around him in excitement, wagging its tail, and then jumped into the back of Will's truck. So he was calling the dog, not me. Serves me right for making assumptions.
"This is Trixie," he said, introducing me to his dog. Then he paused a second, eyebrows closing in on each other, looking at me. "You okay with dogs?"
Was I okay with dogs? I loved dogs! "Hel-lo, gorgeous," I cooed, rubbing behind her ears and putting my face in her ruff. She was fluffy and licked my cheek while I giggled.
Will let out a breath and looked at me, somewhat satisfied, like I’d passed a test.
After lunch, we’d bussed our dirty dishes to the kitchen window and then I followed Will out to his truck to get my tour of the top secret quantity of acreage of Headlands Ranch.
That cowboy drove the biggest truck I'd ever seen, a brand new, white Ford F-350. I hated to think of its freeway gas mileage, let alone the MPG in town. I'd practically needed a stepladder to get up into it. His truck could eat my car for dinner and still have room to spare. Although it was so new that it didn't have license plates, the sides were covered in mud and the inside had dried clumps of earth from his boots. As he saw me gingerly put on my seatbelt, he gave me a half grin. "You okay with things being a little dirty?"
"Of course," I said, more heartily than I felt. Ignoring the double entendre, I wasn't about to complain and make him think that I was more of an elitist than he already seemed to think. It was strange: part of me could care less what he thought of me because he was an asshole with whom I didn't agree about anything, and part of me told me to be quiet and polite because he was my boss. And there was this other part that felt pulled to him, like I was navigating by his light. Throw in the fact that he was outstandingly good-looking, and I knew what was under his big belt buckle, and it was extremely difficult to know what to do from moment to moment. I figured that I’d continue to wing it, because this was my summer adventure, after all. I liked not knowing what would happen next.
At least that’s how I justified not thinking about it for the time being.
He shifted the truck into reverse, turned on country radio—ugh—and started down the rough, dirt road.
I'd already figured out that Will wasn't much of a talker. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I was, so I decided to drill him with questions as we drove.
"So. You grew up here, huh?"
"Yep."
He kept his hand on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, not looking at me.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Nope."
After a few more one word answers, I realized that this wasn't working well. Still, I kept on.
"What are we listening to?"
"George Strait."
"It's, uh, not bad." This was a white lie. It was definitely country music, and twangy, so it was not my style, but the song was cute, about a girl passing a guy a note in school to "Check Yes or No" if he liked her.
I felt like that’s what I was doing. Did he like me? Did he want to be my friend?
He turned and looked at me hard, and then put his eyes back on the dirt road as we bounced along. "Not bad? He has more number one hits than anyone. More than fifty, I think.Not bad." He shook his head. "Christ. What do you listen to?"
"Anything but country."
At this, he let out a chuckle. "Shoulda figured."
As we drove, I watched the landscape change. The compound with the buildings was located west, towards the ocean, sheltered by the hills. We were headed east, going inland, through low plains of strawberries.
Parking the truck and leaving it running, Will got out, boots on the ground, and I hopped down my side of the truck, Trixie at our heels. "We put in strawberries twice a year. Winter crop and summer crop. This crop will be ready to pick soon. They're organic, so we have to paint an organic pesticide on the flowers when they open to keep the bugs away."
I loved that he had organic produce.
"Really? How much effort does that take?"
"It's a lot of labor. That's one of the reasons why you can charge more for strawberries. On this plain, near the coast, it's cool enough for them. Pretty good growing conditions, although on days like today, it's too hot." He looked at me and I wondered what, exactly, he was thinking was too hot. I stared at his lips just a beat too long and he stared at mine.
