Page 15 of Alive and Wells

Cecily remains steadfast, staring back at me but not moving. Her tongue brushes over her bottom lip like she has something she’s holding herself back from saying.

“Please.” My voice strains.

Admittedly, I’ve thought about wanting to dobadthings to her in a few moments of weakness, but the good things she’s making me do are terrifying. No. I’m only obliging her because there’s no way my conscience will allow me to send her to town in a tin can with only three decent wheels. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I watch her climb into my truck.

My fingers tap on the steering wheel, and she leans her head against the passenger window. Offering her a ride was a stupid idea. Sixty fucking kilometres in a truck together. We’re not friends. We don’t converse. Driving with her as a distraction is likely as dangerous as driving drunk. Plus, if my sudden change in attitude from pissy to nice is weird and unexpected to me, it must be confusing as hell for her. I thought I wanted to dislike her, wait impatiently for her to get bored with farm life and leave. Then go back to not worrying about seeing her face at the kitchen table. I thought I wanted her to disappear because it would be easier in the long run. But every interaction makes me less sure about what I want.

It’s because of the dress. You’re being bamboozled by a short summer dress and tanned legs.

She rolls the window down as we pass the lilac bushes at the end of the driveway, sticking her head out to inhale deeply. Once the air no longer smells like sweet perfume, there’s contentment in her eyes, and she sinks deeper into the leather seat.

“You like lilacs?” I ask in a cringeworthy attempt at being friendly.

“Used to. Now I hate them. But the blooms are almost gone, so I wanted to smell them while I still could. See if I like them again.”

“And?” I cock an eyebrow.

“Nope, still hate ’em. At least they’ll be gone soon. I promised myself I wouldn’t waste another moment thinking about the shit they represent when they’re finally gone.”

I wasn’t anticipating my initial yes or no type of question to lead to even more questions than answers. Regardless, I bite. “What exactly do they represent?”

“The entire backyard at my old house was overgrown with them. I loved them when we bought the house. My… ex and I.” She stumbles over the word ex. “Anyway, when I started to hate both him and the house, I hated the lilacs by association.”

“Oh… makes sense.” Great. The first time I’m alone with her and it’s gone from me fighting not to get an erection at the sight of her to talking about her ex.

She grows quiet, and I see her worrying her bottom lip in my periphery. Even though I may be a tiny bit curious, I shouldn’t press for more. From the moment she arrived at the ranch, I assumed she was running from something. Nobody without a sordid past leaves everything behind to work on a cattle ranch in the middle of nowhere. Hell, it’s how we’ve gotten some of our best cowboys—running from the law, jilted lovers, child support, addiction. There’s an unspoken rule about minding our own business when it comes to the reasons people are here. Butfuck me, I’m curious.

“So you left the city for a change of scenery?”

She sighs. “And still ended up with the darn lilacs. I don’t know how much Beryl might’ve told you about why I came here, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

I turn to look at Cecily, but she doesn’t meet my eyes, keeping her gaze aimed at the glovebox like something could jump out at any moment. Her hands rub against her thighs, shifting the hem of her dress up and down.

My fingers rashly reach toward her, settling on top of her shaky hand to steady it. The scorching burn of our skin touching lasts for less than a second before she pulls away. It’s enough to leave a lasting impression, though. I want to touch her again.

“She told me nothing,” I reassure her.

“Okay… okay, that’s good,” she says, turning to look out the passenger window.

8

Cecily

“So,wheredoyouneed to go?” he asks in his typical, growly timbre.

“Um, I need to pick up my new cell phone and go to the tack shop.”

Austin eyes me curiously, suggesting I have no business requesting to visit the tack shop. And, under any other circumstance, it would be the last place on Earth I would choose to shop on my day off. This is a far cry from the time I spent as a teenage mall rat, hopping between trendy stores while drinking an overpriced smoothie.

“I can’t expect to keep wearing Kate’s boots, can I? And my boss won’t let me help with anything other than kitchen chores without a pair of ‘shitkickers’.” I’m still entirely unsure what constitutes shitkickers versus regular boots, but I’m fairly confident I’ll figure it out once I’m at the store.

“Okay, City Girl.”

“Thanks, Not-A-Cowboy.”

His dirt-smudged hands flex on the steering wheel as he turns into a parking stall on the main street. Making me think about him briefly holding my hand when we left the ranch. I kicked myself the entire drive for pulling away but, with both hands firmly on the wheel, he never gave me an opportunity to reciprocate.

Kate told me the town of Wells Canyon was used for the setting of a Hallmark Movie a few years back, and I completely believe it. Add some fluffy fake snow and gaudy Christmas decorations; it’s the perfect town for a corporate snob to be stuck in over the holidays, so they can fall in love with a Christmas-obsessed, small-town veterinarian.

---