3. Chapter 3

Are you sure you want to show up in that truck with it looking like that, son?"

I smirked at my grandfather, "the tough old coot", as my dad called him. My truck was a charcoal gray 1951 Chevy 3100 that I'd helped to restore. It was a classic and meant to be appreciated as such. What my pops was referring to, was the mud I hadn't been able to wash off yet after the boys insisted that my truck wasn't fit for muddin'. Proved all of them wrong.

"We live in the country, Pops. It'll wash, just not today."

"I imagine it will, Max. That don't mean that girl of yours will be impressed seeing you roll up in an oversized dirt clod to take her to prom."

"Cheyenne will be just fine."

"There's a few things you need to know about women, Max-"

"Pretty sure I already know them, Pops." I grinned widely and waggled my eyebrows at the old man to reiterate my point. I'd lost my virginity during my freshman year, to a senior girl who I was pretty sure had gone after my two older brothers as well. She was a one-time hookup, but that didn't mean the end to sex for me. Since then, I had a string of long-term girlfriends and in-between hookups.

"Nah! None of that now, boy. You listen up! There are women who would gladly get dolled up and slip into that truck, even in the condition it's in now. That girl of yours ain't one of ‘em. I keep telling you that you're pickin' wrong when it comes to your women, but you don't listen. If you don't hear anything else I'm saying to you, hear this: That girl you're seein' won't be gettin' into that truck after she gets herself all dolled up." He scoffed out a half laugh as he thought about it before adding, "Hell, don't think she'd get in it if was showroom floor ready."

He dangled a set of keys from his aged fingers, making them jingle to get my attention. "Take my Skylark, at least it's a bit fancier, and might appease that uptight girl you're courtin'."

"No offense, Pops, but I know what I'm doing. Everything will be fine." My grandfather kept looking over toward the barn where his Skylark was parked, but something made me wonder if that was what he'd been looking at when I noticed movement over there.

"Well, we tried," he said.

"Who the heck is ‘we'?" The girl I'd seen there a few weeks ago might have been hiding out again. If that was the case, it just went to show that she was probably just as crazy as her momma – which I already suspected to be true.

"Never you mind. Get on outta here and go to that school dance of yours. I hope your date goes with you, but I gotta tell you, the odds don't seem to be in your favor, Max."

"Then there's always the after party," I shouted back to him as I climbed inside my truck, careful not to get any of the dried, red-clay mud on my rented tux. My momma was normally a sweet woman, but she'd kick my butt from here to the other side of the country and back if I messed up the rented tux and she had to pay outright for it.

It took me twenty minutes to get to the other side of town, where Cheyenne lived. Truthfully, I wanted to sit out in the truck and honk for her to join me, as usual. I knew that wouldn't fly this time. My girl had big ideas for how things like Prom were supposed to go. That meant I'd most likely be stuck taking pictures with her for the next thirty minutes.

I got out of my truck and walked up to the door, where her father let me in. I didn't miss the grim line his lips made as he looked over my shoulder to see my truck sitting there.

"It was a good time," I confided. The man grunted and then called for his daughter. She was halfway through her over-the-top floaty descent of the stairs when I finally looked up and noticed that she was wearing far too much dress. It would be impossible to keep that thing clean when she got in my truck, and I'd never hear the end of it.

Something nudged me in the back and brought me out of my thoughts about what an earful I would get all the way to the dance. "You look great!" I told Cheyenne excitedly.

"I look great?" She asked as confusion marred her normally flawless features.

"Yeah, that's what I said. You look…" What the fuck could I say about her dress? "There's so much…" No, that would not go over well with her. "Like you're ready for a ball or something." I settled on that little gem and glanced up to see her approving smile. It hadn't really been a compliment, but whatever got us out the door quicker.

Cheyenne was a pretty girl when we were in school. She looked glamourous for prom night. Though, maybe her type of glamour was from another era, since she looked like she just stepped off the cast of a period drama taking place in the old south. I'd had the privilege of seeing her up close and personal before she "made herself pretty" and there really wasn't a lot to be impressed with.

She was just a normal girl who knew how to put on a bunch of makeup and make herself look better. Nothing wrong with that. I still dated her, even after knowing what she looked like without all that fuss she put into her appearance. Truthfully, I think she would have been more appealing if she didn't do all that stuff to herself.

Still, if it weren't for the horrid dress she was wearing, with all those fluffy layers, she might have looked like a Hollywood starlet ready to walk a red carpet somewhere. Her light blond hair was styled to perfection, and probably meant I couldn't run my fingers through it when I kissed her, which sort of sucked. Her lips were painted a peachy color to match the dress she had on. When she smiled, it lit up the whole room and made you believe the package she presented was effortless.

Despite my grandfather's thoughts on the subject, I knew Cheyenne was high maintenance. She was being groomed by her family to be someone's trophy wife. They only put up with me dating her because my family owned nearly a thousand acres of land, some of that being prime cattle and farmland. The rest was in real estate investments and businesses my father started when he decided that farming wasn't his cup of tea.

If the Baker family wanted to keep Cheyenne in this town, one of us Carter boys was her best ticket to leading the life of splendor they all wanted for her. She hitched herself to the wrong Carter brother though. I didn't plan on sticking around after graduation. Like my father before me, I had bigger and better, albeit probably less lucrative things to do with my life.

No one but my Pops knew I was joining the Army yet. They'd find out soon enough. I turned eighteen in a week, graduated in less than a month, and then I'd be off to basic training and a new life as far from my hometown as I could get. It wasn't that I hated it here. There was just this fear in the back of my mind that if I didn't get out and explore the world while I was young, this town would be all I ever knew.

"Smile for us!" Cheyenne's mother called out. Immediately, I forced a wide grin, but that wasn't good enough. The woman giggled before coming over to arrange my date's dress for her. "This dress is a bit much, isn't it?" She commented. "It's swallowing you whole in the pictures, Max. I can't even tell you're wearing a tux and nice-"

Her voice trailed off as she got a load of my shitkickers. She must have been about to say something about the ‘nice shoes' I was supposed to be wearing with the monkey suit, but that was where I drew the line. Those kinds of shoes weren't comfortable. My boots were well-worn and a part of me. They also weren't cheap. Not that I paid for them. They'd been a gift from my pops, but they were Lucchese Boots that came with a hefty price tag because they were built to last.

Cheyenne's attention was drawn down to where her mother was looking, and both of their faces turned slightly horror-filled when realization about my footwear choice finally settled in. Her father smirked at me and gave a chin lift in acknowledgment of my little rebellion. His life was exactly what I hoped to avoid by joining the military and seeing more of the world. I didn't want to look back one day and think a kid wearing shitkickers to his prom instead of wing-tip shoes was the height of rebellion.

"Are we ready?" I asked when the women didn't seem prepared to stop staring in judgment over my shoes.

"Yes! I can't wait to get there," Cheyenne screeched excitedly. "We're going to have so much…"

Her voice trailed off as she glanced around outside while she had huge layers of her dress bunched up in her hands so she wouldn't walk on it. How in the hell did she expect to dance in that thing if she couldn't even walk without holding it up?

"What's up?" I asked when it was clear that Cheyenne stopped moving.

"Where is the limo?"

"What limo?"

"The limo we're supposed to arrive to prom in?"

I shook my head, lost as to what she was talking about. "Did you order a limo?"

"No! You were supposed to order a limo, Max. That was your job!"

"Um, no one told me that was a requirement."

"Max!" My name sounded more like a word that would have gotten my mouth washed out with soap when I was a kid. "We've only all been talking about the limo for months now!"

"Yeah, but you said you didn't want to go in the limo with a group, that you just wanted to go with me alone." I didn't bother reminding her why she'd said that, since her parents were still standing there watching our back-and-forth like it was a damn table tennis match.

"Yes," she gritted out through clenched teeth. "I wanted our own limo, so that we didn't have to deal with your idiot friends and brother messing things up and spilling something on my dress."

She glanced around again, and I knew the minute she saw the truck. "You have got to be kidding me! Please, tell me you don't expect me to get in that heap of rolling mud with you."

I shrugged my shoulders. "It was sparkling clean yesterday, but Jake kept saying how my truck wasn't useful and that it couldn't even be taken out muddin'. Everyone else agreed with the assho-jerk," I changed the word so as not to cuss in front of Cheyenne's parents. Truthfully, I didn't care, but my momma did teach us some manners.

"My mom and dad and even Pops had a bunch of shi-stuff for me to do today, so I didn't get a chance to wash it up again."

"I am not going to prom in that truck!" Cheyenne stomped her foot and let go of the mounds of material she'd been holding up, so that she could cross her arms under her breasts. Being stubborn always made her look better because with her arms crossed like that, her cleavage was on full display, and the one thing my girl had going for her – that didn't require enhancements or extra prep time – was her impressive rack.

"Well?!" She questioned in a snotty tone.

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to call for a limo?"

I laughed, which made her expectant look slip further into a frown.

"No, I'm not calling for a limo. There probably isn't one available at this late notice anyway."

"Fine, then we'll borrow Daddy's car for the night."

I turned to look at the angry scowl that slid onto her dad's face. "I don't think he's okay with that and besides, I'm not insured to drive his car and you don't have a license, since you failed the test again."

"Oh my God! I can't believe you brought that up," she huffed. Mr. Baker's face relaxed into something akin to enjoyment as I let him off the hook and he watched his daughter begin to throw a tantrum.

"If you don't call your brother and have the group limo come here to pick us up, I will not be going to prom."

"Their limo is full, since they got someone else to take our spots when you refused to share it with the group," I reminded her. "Plus, we didn't pay our share to use it."

"Maxwell Carter!" She screeched. "I will not get into that truck with you!"

I took one slow step back from the porch and then another quicker step, putting distance between us. Her jaw looked like it came unhinged with my third step. "What are you doing?" She asked.

"I'm taking my truck to the prom."

"You're going without me?"

"I guess you have to be dropped off. I'm not leaving my truck here overnight because then I'll need a ride to pick it up." I shrugged my shoulders again. "If you won't ride with me, I guess I'll meet you there."

"You're not serious?" I couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement. In answer, I turned my back to her and walked to my truck. Before I got in, I glanced up one more time.

"Are you coming with me, or not?"

"You are unbelievable!" She shouted at me before turning and stumbling over her dress while trying to run into her house.

"At least I'm not ruining my own night by being overly dramatic," I called back. Cheyenne's mom stomped into the house behind her daughter. Her father stood there smiling on the porch steps.

"Good call. Wish I'd made the same one myself," he said before turning and following the furious women into the house.

I hopped in my muddy truck and patted the dash. "You probably just helped me dodge a bullet, buddy." I praised the thing as I cranked it up and headed to prom - solo.

My dad was on my mind, and I wondered if one of my friends would end up falling in with Cheyenne and going through what Eric Gamble did. The shiver that ran up my spine made me turn the radio on and crank it up loudly. No use thinking about stray bullets that might land somewhere else. I'd just be thankful the Cheyenne-shaped bullet missed me.

Mom would probably be pissed that she didn't get any pictures with me dressed in the monkey suit she laid down a pretty penny to rent, but she would get over it pretty quickly when she realized it meant she didn't have to deal with my girlfriend coming around anymore.