And I should stop taking risks.
I’ve been running on luck, and luck runs out. One day shit is going to hit the fan and I’ll get hurt beyond repair. I close my eyes, inhale one last breath of cold air, and then go into the bedroom and heft the old mattress down the stairs and over by the barn that’s full of junk. I opened the barn doors earlier this morning only to promptly close them, overwhelmed by the sight of things. I’m going to need multiple dumpsters to get rid of all that shit.
I stop by the river, watching the water rush by, and think of the woman’s words from her message about the river flooding. I stand there a moment longer than I planned, summer sun baking the back of my neck, lost in thought about her. I woke up thinking about her and had to listen to one more message, which was left a few days from the previous. All she said was that she took Tinkerbell and Dolly to the vet, and he liked her idea for the cat shelf.
I went back and listened to the older messages again, not able to get enough of her poetic words.
It’s insane.
It’s weird.
I’m wasting my time.
I need to mass-delete all the messages and set up my own voicemail. If I’m going to be staying in this town for a while, I should start to establish some sort of life for myself. But I can’t bring myself to delete the messages. I need to listen to them all at least.
Like a good book that keeps you flipping pages, I want to listen to message after message and hope for a happy ending for this woman. Which is weirder and more insane than the curiosity of listening to the messages in the first place.
I wipe sweat from my forehead and go inside, taking solace in the whirl of the air conditioner. I spent a few hours setting up the rest of my stuff and washing all the dust-covered dishes that were left in the cabinets. Hunger takes over and I finish off the casserole Melissa cooked.
Having no food left, I grab my keys and get in my Mustang, using the GPS to find my way into town to get groceries. Summer Hill is a small town but has a decent amount of stores for a town of its size. I get groceries and head back, hustling to get everything done in time to shower before going down to the bar.
Fridays are busy with discounted beer and karaoke. I stay behind the bar, trying not to cringe at the country music, and watch Josh talk to the regulars, filling drink orders without even having to ask. I’ve always been a bit of a people watcher, and am able to get a good read on most within minutes of meeting.
The night goes on and the crowd remains steady. I’m getting bored, and being bored usually leads me into trouble. Because being bored means my mind has time to wander, and when you stumble around in the dark, it’s easy to trip and fall. And falling into the truth of why my life feels so unsatisfying isn’t something I want to do.
I tap my fingers on the bar, half-listening to Josh and an old man named Joe talk about a cow being found with its stomach ripped open by mountain lions. A group of girls walks in, dressed in shorts and tight skirts, looking like they belonged in a club, not a hole-in-the-wall tavern like The Mill House. They go for a booth in the back, and Erica, one of the waitresses working tonight goes over to take their order, returning with a pitcher of margaritas.
A table that emptied minutes ago still has dirty dishes on it and seeing as I have nothing else to do, I go over and pick them up, taking them into the kitchen. When I come back, I see another group of women walk through the door. Two walked in, but my eyes go to one.
Her brunette hair blows back from the draft created by the open door, and her white dress swirls around her long, lean legs. She’s not dressed like her friends—the girls in clubbing clothes—but rather looks like she should go to a fancy tea party with the Queen of England. I watch her for a moment, unable to get a read on her and decipher if she’s stuck-up or a bit eccentric to be dressed like that in a place like this.
Josh catches me staring and raises his eyebrows.
“Who is that?” I ask him.
“Sierra Belmont,” he says like the name should have some sort of impact on me. “Right, you have no idea who anyone is. Her parents pretty much own the town.”
“They own the town?”
He nods and turns, filling a glass with beer. “You had to see the big, white plantation house on your way into town, right?”
“Yeah, it’s hard to miss.”
“That’s their house. And most of the farmland in Summer Hill belongs to them. They sell their crops to big manufacturers. They’re loaded.”
I narrow my eyes, looking at Sierra’s pretty face. She seems too unsure of herself to be stuck-up, though the fact that she hails from a rich family would lead me to believe that to be the truth.
“But they’re good people,” Josh goes on. I’m fairly certain everyone is a ‘good person’ to him. He has a tendency to see the good in everyone…including me. “Sierra doesn’t come in here often, though. I honestly can’t recall the last time she came in.”
“It’s one of her friend’s birthdays,” I say, reading the lips of the woman in tight black shorts and a leopard-print top.
“Oh, I should give them a free round,” Josh says.
I just laugh and shake my head. I already planned to tell him that half-priced beer on the busiest night of the week is a huge loss, but I’m biding my time. The night goes on and I keep watching Sierra. She’s quiet, smiling when her friends are looking, then retreating inside herself as soon as they look away.
When a group of guys shows up and one slides into the booth close to her, I give myself a mental slap in the face. Sierra is pretty, with large breasts and a nice figure. I need to get my imagination under control. I go into the kitchen and help with some cleanup for a while before going back to the bar.
I’m surprised to see Sierra sitting there, Kindle in front of her, and a slight scowl on her face.
“I told you,” she says to the guy next to her. “I have a boyfriend, and he’ll be here any minute.”
The guy next to her is on his fourth beer—I know because I saw him get served three and then he took one from his buddy—and doesn’t believe Sierra. I don’t either, and can tell right away she’s a bad liar.
“I’m not worried about your boyfriend, baby,” Beer Guy says and leans forward. “He’s not here yet and I don’t think he’s coming.”
“He is.” Sierra pulls her shoulders in, looking uncomfortable.
“Why you gotta be like that?” Beer Guy goes on.
“I’m not being like anything,” she shoots back.
“Just talk to me, sweet cheeks.”
She shudders and shakes her head. “No, thanks.”
“You know what, I took a chance talking to a pretty girl and you gotta go and be like that. You don’t have a boyfriend and you don’t have the balls to tell that to my face.”
Sierra looks exasperated. The ‘I have a boyfriend’ line might be the oldest line of shit in the book, but it’s said to let someone down gently. Hell, even I’d rather hear that than a blatant ‘I’m not into you.’ Beer Guy takes a swig, and turns, obviously checking out Sierra’s breasts.
“I shoulda known you’d be a bitch,” he mutters.
I rush forward but stop myself before I throw a punch and start a fight. And for some reason, I don’t think Sierra wants to be rescued. She’s looked uncomfortable being here since she walked through the door, but not scared or weak. So I play her game instead.