After an hour or so, and mere minutes before I lost my cool and full-on orgasmed from the way the cowboy was looking at me, the art professor told everyone that it was time to gather their things (by the way, the professor’s first name was Rufus, which was not only a dog’s name, but also a name that felt a little like it might belong to a creeper). I still didn’t move. I didn’t know if I was supposed to. Also, I was a little confused by what was going to happen to the sheet that I was draped in when I stood up. I wasn’t naked underneath. I was wearing underwear and a strapless bra, but still, I remained unsure of the protocol. In the movies, artist’s models always have silky kimono robes. Clearly, I failed to adequately prepare for my role. I wondered where I could get one before my next appearance as muse extraordinaire. Not in Conway.
Slowly, one by one, the Crayola crowd packed up their things and filtered out of the room. The cowboy was the only one left. He approached Rufus. I was so eavesdropping.
With a gentle humble tone, he said, “Listen, man, I’m sorry if I gave you attitude. I hate being late, and it’s not my M.O. It won’t happen again.”
Rufus was a consummate dick, “Lateness is not tolerated in this space, Mr. Morgan. In the future, you will kindly refrain from entering if tardy.”
Arguments with pompous blowhards like Rufus were a waste, but if the cowboy was hot-headed, Rufus’ self-important air might set him off. Inexplicably, I wanted to save him from the kerfuffle of upsetting his professor. I pushed my chair back and stood, bringing their attention to me. With the sheet pressed to my chest, I asked, “Do I just like get dressed now? Or do I wait for you two to leave?
Rufus smiled his subtly douchey smile, “Our apologies, Madeline. We will give you some privacy. We’ll see you next week.”
It’s Madison, not Madeline, but whatever, Professor McStuffy.
He snapped his artsy leather briefcase closed and headed for the door.
The cowboy, Mr. Morgan, was slower to move like it hurt him to take his eyes off me, but he also walked to the door, leaving me alone in the room.
I quickly got dressed and headed out. No need to dawdle. The halls of the building were as empty as a toy store on the day after Christmas, and every one of my footsteps echoed on the linoleum. I wondered to myself why all institutions feel so institutional. Then, when I was nearing the exit, I looked up. Outside, just past the glass doors, the cowboy lingered in the moonlight. I slowed my gait to savor the moment. It was my first real chance to put eyes on him without him noticing. Holy hot sauce, he was a choice cut of beef if I ever saw one. That boy got buns, hun. As if he could feel my eyes on him, he turned in my direction. He seemed uncomfortable. He was either nervous or had to pee.
When I approached the door, he held it for me. Then he awkwardly blurted, “Hey, this might sound weird—it feels a little weird—but are you okay getting to your car in the dark?”
Was he worried about me? That was a little bit cute. Okay a lot, that was hot. I couldn’t help flirting just a little, “I think so. Unless you’re dangerous. Are you dangerous?”
It was cold and he exhaled a cloud of smoky air. His voice dropped an octave when he said, “Maybe.”
I nervously laughed and then looked in my purse for my keys before saying, “So, does the serial killer thing work for you?”
“It can get kinda messy,” he joked back. He paused briefly before dropping any dark pretense he’d been able to conjure, “No, sorry. I can’t even make jokes about this. I didn’t get the killer gene. I’m a cowboy who can’t eat meat. I’ve never killed anything.” Another pause, “I mean, for you, I might, but…” He let his words trail off and we just stood there looking in each other’s eyes. His were oozy chocolate and I was swimming in them.
He was a funny mix of rugged man and awkward personality that I found almost completely irresistible. But I wasn’t looking for attraction or even a tumble in the hay right now. I was on a mission to find me, to get secure in my own skin, and goofy, sexy, cowboy Morgan would be a big fat distraction from that, so it was time to head on home.
Shattering the eye contact, I looked towards my car and said, “Well, off I go.”
“No to the escort then?” he asked.
“I’m good.” I shrugged.
“You mind if I just stand here and make sure you get off okay?”
“It’s a free country,” I offered, already on the move.
To my back, he hollered, “I’m Luke, by the way.”
“Maddie,” I called back without turning around.
“Nice to meet you, Maddie,” he said into the darkness punctuated by big overhead fluorescent parking lot lights.
I lifted my hand in a wave, back still turned. I wasn’t looking back. I didn’t want to give him any ideas.
“Thank you for tonight, Maddie. You were exquisite.”
I whipped around to see if he was joking. He didn’t sound like he was, but no one had ever called me exquisite before. Nope, dead serious. And just like that, I found myself smiling and walking backwards like an idiot.
Nice moves, Madison. Way to stand your ground.
3
Luke
The weekend after I first met Madison, Cody, Wyatt, and I ate lunch at Hazel’s cafe in downtown Conway. When we finished eating, Cody stepped out onto the sidewalk and said, “I’ve been meaning to get a haircut, y’all mind?”
“Sounds good,” Wyatt conferred.
I didn’t need a haircut but I was happy to hang out with them, so all three of us walked half a block from Hazel’s cafe to Delores’ beauty shop. The shop was a little three-chair salon with a shampoo station behind a screen. There was also one of those hair drying bays, where little old gray-haired biddies in curlers spread town gossip. Delores was a thirty-something single mom, who was fun and just an all-around kind woman. When you lived in Conway, she was the lady who cut your hair unless your mom did. Since our mom died, Delores took on the mantle for Morgan family grooming. There was a spell where our sister tried to do the job, but we started spooking the cattle so that didn’t last.
As brothers tend to do, we were rowdy and goofing on each other as we walked through the door of the shop. I heard the tinkle of the bells on the door, and then I looked up expecting Delores’ “Howdy,” but instead, I got an eyeful of Maddie’s baby blues.
She smiled warmly and said, “Hey, cowboy.”
I panicked. I didn’t want my brothers to know about my secret. I felt my eyes go wide. Moving as subtly as possible, I shook my head and mouthed the word, “No.”
Maddie’s reaction was visceral. I watched the color drain from her face and tension tightened her shoulders and jaw.
Cody stepped forward. “Hello there,” he whistled. He was a dead man. “You are not Delores.”
Wyatt decided he wanted me to kill him too by stepping in front of Cody and cooing, “Pay no heed to this little baby peacock. I’m Wyatt.”
I couldn’t control myself, I growled, “Both of you. Sit down.” Searching behind Maddie with my eyes, I hollered, “Delores, Wyatt and Cody need their hair cut!”
“That’s my job,” Maddie said. “Who would like to go first?”