Page 6 of Flirting With Fire
I pressed my lips together, my fingers gripping the brush a bit too tightly. I was being ridiculous. Why should I care what Meyer did or didn’t do? If he was in Charming or China? Ten years had passed since the incident during our final hometown game, the one that finally crushed…well, my crush.
But that was a silly, high school moment. Everyone experiences at least one tragic, teenage event that haunts their memories, right? Sometimes, a multitude of incidents forever cloud our childhood recollections into colors of gray. Maybe Meyer peaked in high school, and his big-city aspirations were a bust. Perhaps he was using the excuse that Charming needed a new assistant fire chief to return home without his tail between his legs.
Back then, I was a gangly freshman and hadn’t quite grown into myself. Meyer was the hot senior jock I couldn’t quit staring at or control my pervy little fantasies whenever I thought about him—which was often. Who could blame me? Over one brief summer, Meyer had not only grown into himself, he’d blossomed like a stallion put out to stud.
I must’ve been radiating pent-up frustration—or, more likely—seething rage because Abe kept giving me the side eye as he finished up with Magnum. His furrowed brow didn’t convey suspicion, more that he was concerned that I didn’t have my wits about me. That was something my grandpa always loved to say. Whenever he couldn’t fathom what someone was doing, that meant they must’ve lost all their wits.
I finished up with Junie, rubbing my nose against her velvety soft muzzle as I brushed my knuckles on either side of her nostrils. I moved my face out of the way right before she gave an excited nod. She was a gentle girl and the only one of my horses I dared to nuzzle like that. We had a special connectionthat reached back to when I lost my folks to a terrible collision on the highway. Taking solitary trail rides with her saved my sanity during that awful time.
“There you go, sweetheart.” I closed her stall. “I’ll grab you some oats. Then you can cool down in here for a bit. You can have some pasture time later.” I scritched the spot behind her ear that was her favorite. “Sound good?”
She gave me another enthusiastic nod as if she understood. While I finished up with her, I wondered if my sister might be around. She worked from home, but I hated to bug her during the day. Her graphic design work was a creative endeavor, and I was never sure if I would destroy a burst of inspiration with a pointless interruption.
If I kept telling myself that this thing with Meyer was silly, maybe I’d start to believe it too.
I ambled up the dirt path that led back to the house, waving to the guys replacing a couple of rusty rails on the paddock. Once inside, I headed straight for the roomy, square-shaped kitchen, which had always been a festive gathering place growing up, a place where everything good, loving, and perfect happened.
The white tile with the cobalt blue edging was old and chipped in a few places, but all original from when my grandparents first built the house in the fifties. My folks had renovated several parts of the place when they got married and took over, but the sink hadn’t been touched. The porcelain on one side had a hairline crack that seemed to get a bit longer every year, yet it never bothered me.
The lemon-yellow curtains with tiny bluebell flowers that hung over the windows above the sink weren’t so lemony anymore. I stared at the fabric, realizing that the yellow of my memory was now more of a dull beige. Small snags were next to several of the flowers, and at the bottom of one panel was ahole, no bigger than a pea, but one I’d never noticed. I guess everything changes when we aren’t paying attention.
I heaved a sigh, then turned the spigot, using both hands to splash cool water over my face before shutting it off again. I was getting goofy. Hearing my sister’s voice needed to happen now rather than later. Maybe speaking to her would ground me again. If Mom were still around, she’d say I needed the sense knocked back into me. Kayla was the only close family member I still had available to do the job.
After grabbing a glass of iced tea, I snatched my phone off the round pine kitchen table and made my way through the sliding glass doors that opened onto the patio. A canopy extended from above the doors, offering much-needed protection during the beastly hot summers.
Unfortunately, the shade did nothing to protect against the desert winds, bits of fine dirt whipping through the air, gusts hurling the debris against exposed skin. Not great for barbecuing or picnics, but when I rode hard, and Junie’s hooves kicked up even more dust, I didn’t mind. I kept my face covered with a bandana, had my sunglasses and hat. I loved the freedom of charging together across the desert plains.
The back patio looked out onto the empty desert on the backside of town, the panorama extending for miles. The famous butte of our town was visible in the distance. From where I sat in the outdoor chair with the faded denim cushions, it wasn’t nearly as magnificent. However, the tourists sure loved taking a drive to the national park surrounding the rocky formation for photo ops.
I took a sip of the tea as I waited for what I was sure would be Kayla’s voicemail. When she answered immediately, I set my drink down a little too hard, and tea splashed on my wrist. I let out agrrras I shook my hand and heard a chuckle coming from the phone.
“Are you growling at me?” Kayla laughed. “That’s the thanks I get for not letting it go to voicemail.”
“Funny. I’m just making a mess over here.”
I finally let out a chuckle of my own, more from letting go of the tension I’d been holding all morning. Hearing her voice was definitely a needed remedy.
“So,” Kayla said. “What’s up? You caught me on a break. This logo I’m working on is giving me a headache. The client keeps changing their mind about what they want.”
I couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of creativity was involved in coming up with something new out of vague descriptions and disjointed ideas. She’d shared the process with me one time, and all I’d been able to do was stare at her with slack-jawed awe.
“That sounds annoying.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Eh.” She said it like a verbal shrug. “Part of the job. But enough about me. You never call in the middle of the day, so you’re kinda stressing me out.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t considered how the impromptu call might come across. “Sorry about that. No big emergency, I promise.”
After a pause, a loud sigh sounded. “Dex. I’m on a break, not a sabbatical. Something has to be eating at you. Otherwise, you would’ve waited until our usual Sunday night gabfest.”
I frowned. “Gabfest?” We usually spent around thirty minutes catching up at the end of each week, but most of the conversation came from her. I loved hearing about her busy life in Denver and enjoyed my role as the person she could vent to without judgment. But I rarely had much to say. Every day in the Butte was pretty standard.
I frowned again.Except for this one.
“I was being sarcastic, dork. Your strong and silent type persona is very cool, but less so when there’s something you’re not sharing.”
“Fair enough.” Okay, so maybe I didn’t pour out my feelings at the drop of a hat, but whenever I did, she was the one I allowed myself to be vulnerable with. “Well, something unexpected happened this morning. I was riding Junie on Big Butte Road, and I spotted Meyer Jones strolling along. His car had broken down.”
“Uh-huh.” Chewing and lip-smacking sounds filled my ears. “And then what happened?”
