22. Fable

Chapter 22

Fable

T he fabrics are strung out across the spare bed as I dig through them, trying to find the perfect one for an outfit worthy of a honkytonk. I have two days to make something awesome. I probably don't want to go too wild since we're going into town and I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb, but I can at least have fun.

" Skirts are always a winner ," Jinx comments where she lounges across my bed. " Get real short and these cowboys will be lining up to dance with you. Plus, easy access ."

I narrow my eyes in thought. "Yes, but then my leg will be on full display."

" And? " Jinx comments. " You have great legs ."

"Leg," I correct, as if I'm really having a conversation with this phantom that isn't here. The pill bottles in the bathroom mock me, as if they're saying, "you could get better if you'd just take us." Silly me though. I'd rather have PTSD-induced visions of my best friend than feel as numb as the pills make me.

" No one will comment on your prosthetic. If they do, just karate chop them fuckers in the throat! " she says and then does a hi-ya motion as if her point needed further making.

"I can't just go around punching people in the throat," I grumble. "Besides, that was your job."

" I know, Everhart ," she says sadly, her eyes meeting mine. " But I'm not here anymore ."

To really make those words sting, she fades away until I'm left in my cabin alone again. But I was always alone. Isn't that the point Dr. Julia was trying to make? Take the pills so that reality can set in, so that I don't have to do this, so that it doesn't hurt every time she's not there to hold my hand, to lift me up, to remind me to punch fuckers in the throat. Jinx was a spitfire, the uncontrollable wildfire to my calm seas. Without her, my waters are choppy, and I never built the boat to survive without her. I don't know how. . .

A chrome-colored leather material catches my eyes from my pile, and I pick it up, tugging the leather jacket I'd started making back home before the wreck. It's like butter against my fingers, an expensive and high-quality material. My heart squeezes and I set it gently on the table, taking it in. The pieces are already blocked out, but I'd never sewn them together. I decide to finish it for the honkytonk and immediately reach for the necessary supplies.

Jinx would have told me to wear a skirt, to dress how I want and forget everyone else, but I'm not ready to go out to a bar and listen to people make comments about my leg. I spend the rest of the first day pinning the pieces properly. The next morning, I wake up and start sewing. The chrome leather is a showstopper, so when I add hot pink fringe along the sleeves and the back, it only adds more pizzaz. It's only as I finish up that jacket that I realize my outfit will be missing one key piece.

A proper cowgirl hat.

I look over at the cheap hat I'd ordered online with a frown. I've only been here for a week and a half, but the stitching is already giving up and the hat no longer holds its shape. You'd think I was out roughhousing in it, but really, it's just from wearing it out in the elements. I haven't crushed it once, but it looks like I've stomped on it in the street a few times. I can't go to a real honkytonk with that.

I stand and head for the door. Jethro leaps to his feet from where he'd been lying near the small fireplace rug, his eyes bright as he realizes I'm about to leave.

"Come on, Prince of Barkness," I tell him. "I have a mission."

The honkytonk is tonight. I need a hat fast, but I don't have a car. I don't think any ride shares are constant out here, not like I'd be able to get into one if they were. So, I go find the one person who usually doesn't mind spending time with me.

I find Gunnar out with Houdini in the stables. He has his hoof pulled up between his legs as he carves out mud and gunk from beneath his horseshoe. My heart sinks.

He looks up at my arrival with a grin. "What can I help you with, Florida Girl?"

"I was hoping you'd be able to take me to town to get a proper cowgirl hat before tonight," I say, shifting on my feet. "But I see you're busy."

He grins. "I am, unfortunately. I gotta get Houdini all shoed up. I can see if Rhett can take you. He shouldn't be too busy right now."

"I don't wanna interrupt you. I can ask him," I answer. "Where is he?"

"He's up in the big house, in the office going over some paperwork. Just knock on the doorframe." He nods his head and goes back to Houdini's hooves.

I take a deep breath and turn toward the big house. Inside, at this time of day, the house is mostly quiet. Lunch isn't served for another hour where everyone can come grab something to eat. I trail through the first floor, looking for an open doorway that feels like an office. I haven't explored much of the big house. I know Gunnar and Callie live here. Trent and Colt do as well. Mel lives in another small cabin out somewhere on the ranch as well as a few of the other full-time workers. I know the rooms are upstairs, but I haven't gone looking. It feels far too intimate to be looking into people's bedrooms, so I've refrained from exploring anything but the dining room and the kitchen. Now, as I peek into rooms, I see living areas that feel homey. A living room sets off to the right with a floral couch that feels old and worn but still comfortable. The tv is clearly new and large, and the gaming systems beneath them are the newest on the market, but the rest of the room feels almost like it's stuck in the past. I wouldn't have pegged the guys as floral couch kinds of people.

The next doorway is a small bathroom that I have seen before, so I skip it. It isn't until I reach the back of the house that I find Rhett. When I peek around the corner of the doorway, I see him sitting at a desk, his shoulders hunched as he scans some papers. He doesn't realize I'm here watching, whatever paper he's reading so engrossing, he hasn't even sensed my movements. When I knock on the doorframe, he startles and the papers flutter off the desk.

"Sorry. Sorry," I say, rushing forward to help pick the papers up.

"Stop," he commands, his voice hard. "Leave them. I'll pick them up."

I frown, but back away. Maybe it's their financials and he doesn't want me to see them. That would be understandable. I watch as he comes around the desk and stoops, picking up the papers.

"I'm sorry," I rasp. "I didn't mean to startle you. Gunnar said to knock first and?—'

"It's fine, Wild West Barbie," he says, his face immediately relaxing into his normal carefree expression. "What can I help you with?"

"So, uh. . ." I twist my fingers together, nervous. "If you're not busy, I mean, if you are, that's okay, I'll live. But if you're not. . . I was wondering if we could go into town and find me a proper hat for tonight?"

He grins. "And you wanna go with me?"

"Gunnar was busy," I reply, tilting my head. "He said you might be willing to take me."

He studies me for a second, looking me up and down in my jeans and t-shirt. It gives me ample time to study him back.

Rhett is a beautiful man. Every time I see him, I'm struck by his beauty. He's almost too pretty, but where he's pretty, he's also incredibly masculine. The beard along his jaw and chin is always well kept, as if he trims it every morning. His hair is perfectly styled, a single curl coming down over his forehead. Those brilliant blue eyes are so blue, they speak of waters somewhere exotic. I feel as if I could dive deep into them and still never know who Rhett is. He hides behind that pretty boy charisma, behind his fuckboy attitude. I have no doubt that sex with Rhett would be good, but no one should tell him that. His ego is big enough as it is.

"Yeah, I can take you," he finally answers. "The Boot Emporium in Steele should have plenty of hats to choose from. Last time I was there, they even had pink ones, if that's your vibe."

I shrug. "I don't know what my vibe is yet. But I appreciate you agreeing to take me."

He tosses me his truck keys and I barely have enough time to catch them. "You're driving," he says, as if I'm doing him a favor when we both know it's because I'm terrible at riding. None of them have pried for more information about why I insist on driving. None of them have made me feel silly because of it. I think they just assume I get carsick and would prefer I didn't in their trucks, but I haven't given any explanation.

I follow Rhett out to his large red pickup truck, a chevy with more wheels than I know what to do with, just like Gunnar's, but in green. Why does a man need a truck with four back wheels? I don't get it, but it's not like I'm a stranger to it. There are plenty of trucks in Florida, many of them lifted sky high and dangling truck balls off the back of them. I'm just glad Rhett doesn't have the matching set of testicles hanging off the back of his truck even though he seems the type to. Maybe he's never seen them before up here. Maybe that's why none of the guys have them.

Small blessings.

I climb into the driver seat and go about moving his seat. Just like Gunnar, he never complains about me moving it. It seems like they just don't care about that sort of thing. He throws his arms across the middle and braces it against the back of the driver's seat once we're on the road. I'm highly conscious of his hand being there, but don't say anything. It's not like he's touching me, and even if he were, his forearm is real fucking nice where he has his button down rolled up. I might be okay with touching.

Who am I kidding? I'd be totally fine with it.

" Understandable ," Jinx says. " I bet that man tastes just like the honey he harvests ."

My eyes flicker to the rearview mirror but I don't see her in the backseat. Instead, I catch sight of her in the bed of the truck, her head tipped back over the side, her eyes closed. The wind doesn't touch her. Her pink hair doesn't whip around her like it should. She's untouched and imaginary.

My eyes flick back to the road in front of me as I ease onto the main road and head toward Steele.

"So. . ." Rhett begins, and I know I've hit my limit on how long I can go before I talk about it. "Do you get carsick?"

I take a deep breath through my nose and glance at him. "No. I don't."

"Why do you have to drive then?" he asks curiously. "Is it a control thing? My Uncle Bobby used to refuse to ride because he didn't like not being in control. Bastard still died at the wheel though. Apparently, he liked control, but he liked whiskey more."

I blink at his words. "It's. . . complicated. It's a bit about control, yes, but. . . I was in a car wreck."

"Recently?" he asks. At my nod, he whistles. "Well, damn. Bad one?" When I nod again while refusing to look at him, he sighs. "I get it then."

But he offers no other information about why he might get it. I'm reminded of Mel's story about his family, how he lost them in a car wreck, and I realize we may have a little more in common than I originally thought. Unlike Rhett though, I was in the wreck that took my family. He doesn't have the image in his head. . .

We fall into this comfortable silence as we slowly head to Steele. The little sign welcoming us to town appears on the right and Rhett watches it pass before he turns toward me with a serious expression. It's so serious, I tense, preparing for the question he's going to ask. It's going to be something about the wreck. I just know it. So I have to prepare for?—

"Have you ever given road head?" he asks.

A laugh startles out of me. "What?"

"Road head? Like a blowjob on the go? Not driving, of course. You'd be the rider. . . You know what? This question seems dumb now considering you have to drive, but like before your traumatic experience, I mean," he rambles on.

I glance over at him with raised brows, laughter still spilling from my lips. "If I had, I don't think I'd be telling you about it."

"That means you've done it," he grins. "Me, too."

"You've given road head?" I ask, grinning back.

His brows raise. "No. Received. Can't say I've given it. Unless that one night I got drunk with Gunnar and Colt was a lot more fun than I remember."

I snort and can't stop the laughter from spilling out. He's completely comfortable with himself, so comfortable he doesn't take offense to anything. And it's only as my chuckles begin to dissipate that I realize what he'd done.

Broken the tension.

"Thank you," I say, glancing at him.

He shrugs. "You seemed tense." He points to a stop sign. "Turn right. The Boot Emporium is on the right so just park wherever there's space."

The Boot Emporium and Western Wear store is large. That's the first thing I notice when we walk inside. The second thing I notice is that there's a wall full of hats to choose from.

"Wow," I breathe, moving over to look up at them. This store has everything from fancy hats to bedazzled jeans to button downs galore. There are even some chaps that draw my eyes, but I can probably make some cool ones to match an outfit later. I've already been working on a few different costumes for next week, including a fun Sheriff one to fuck with Colt.

"How ‘bout this one?" Rhett asks, pointing to a bright pink one. "It would go with your Barbie outfit."

I smile and shake my head. "Not for me I don't think."

My eyes flick over to the cowboy hat covered with disco ball mirror pieces. Temptation pulls at me and Rhett follows my eyes.

His brows shoot up. "The disco one? I shouldn't be surprised but. . ."

"It's not practical for the ranch," I admit hesitantly.

Rhett levels me with those pretty blues. "Now, Fable Everhart, when have you ever been practical?"

It's something that Jinx would have said. She would have spoken those words just the same as Rhett did and then she would have laughed and plucked the hat from the shelf before plopping it on my head. Rhett, in his full wisdom, does the same, pulling it down, looking at it for a minute, before setting it on my hair.

"Look at that," he says, smiling. "You're a real cowgirl now."

Something about the moment settles in my chest like a weight, but it's not uncomfortable. It's. . . good. It feels right.

"Sold," I say, touching the weighted hat. "But I should probably get another one, too, so it goes with more outfits."

"Good idea," he nods, his expression serious as if he knows anything about fashion design. "Something. . . like this?" he asks as he picks up a black hat.

I wrinkle up my nose. "Too simple."

"You can add different hat bands. But if the black is too severe, might I suggest. . . beige?" he asks, grabbing a different hat. "It would look very nice with your skin tone."

"Yeah?" I ask, laughing. "Will it bring out my eyes?"

He stalks toward me and plucks the disco hat off my head before setting it aside. Then he carefully places the beige hat on. He's standing close as I look up at him while he adjusts the hat. Any other man would be infringing in my space, but Rhett just feels like he always has to stand so close to people, as if he can't perceive them without them being right in his face. He tips my hat back and chucks me on the chin.

"It does bring out your eyes," he whispers. "All the pretty greens and browns. Such a pretty mix of color."

I stop breathing at his words and the warmth of his fingers on my chin. We stay like that for a few long seconds, long enough that I start to debate if I should rise up on my tippy toes to press my lips to his. He wants to. I know he does.

"You're standing awfully close," I breathe.

The corner of his lips twitch. "Indeed I am, Wild West Barbie." He leans just a hair closer. "If you like being in control, you're welcome to take me for a drive, too."

A very unlady-like snort leaves my nose. "That line work on a lot of women?"

He grins and lets go of my chin. "More than you'd think. I figured I'd give it a sho?—'

"Rhett Thomas," a voice says from behind me.

Rhett's face immediately shuts down. I get a good look at the playfulness disappearing before I turn to see who's talking.

A woman stands behind me, not close, but close enough to have heard our conversation. She's pretty, thin, her hair bleach bottle blonde in need of a touch up. She's dripping in diamonds, literally. A thick diamond collar hangs at her throat, equally large diamonds on her ears, but none on her finger I note.

"Darla Savage," Rhett replies. "Long time no see."

"Not by choice," she says with a smile, but the smile is tight as her eyes flick to me. "Last I saw of you, you were disappearing around the Boot Skoot after our little meeting in your truck." I wince at her words and glance back at Rhett. His expression is hard. "I called Circle Bee and asked for you. Mel said you were out of town for a while," she continues, as if she can't quite see his coldness. "And here you are."

"Here I am," he says. His eyes meet mine. "Sorry you expected a call, Darla. I thought we'd discussed how things would be."

He says the words while he meets my eyes. My heart twists. Is he trying to tell me something here? I like Rhett, sure, but I have no illusions about what getting mixed up with him would mean. He's a player, not because he's trying to hurt people, but because he can't settle down. He's not playing with his heart like Darla clearly was.

Darla huffs. "Well, I'm sure my brother would like to hear about how disrespectful you are."

"I'm not scared of your brother," Rhett says. "Now, if you'll excuse me. . ." He grabs the disco hat from the shelf again and tucks it gently under his arm. "Come on, Fable."

"Is she your girlfriend?" Darla asks, glaring at me.

"No," I answer honestly. "Just a guest at Circle Bee."

She sniffs. "I figured. Rhett would never mess with someone like you."

I tense at the insult, but before I can say anything, Rhett is in front of me, blocking the woman from sight. I don't know what his face looks like, but Darla takes a few stumbling steps back when I peek around him.

"You shut your mouth, Darla Savage, before I tell that brother of yours just what you've been up to," he warns. "There's nothing wrong with Fable. All she'd have to do is snap her fingers and I'd grovel at her feet."

Darla's face pales. "Rhett, I?—"

"Come on, Fable," Rhett says, grabbing my hand again. "Let's get out of here."

I'm so surprised, I don't even realize we're out the door without paying until he's lifting me up into the driver's seat of his truck.

"Wait! We didn't pay?—"

"It was added to my tab," he growls before closing the door and storming around the passenger seat.

In front of us, Darla comes stumbling out of the store. Her eyes go to the truck I'm sitting in, her eyes wide, before she takes off down the street. I glance at Rhett nervously as I turn the key in the ignition.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"For what?" he asks, his expression still dark.

"For the hats. . . And for sticking up for me."

He meets my eyes. "I wasn't lyin'. In case you were wondering."

I wince. "Seems a bit. . . silly, considering we ran into an angry ex-girlfriend not two seconds ago."

"Darla is not an ex-girlfriend," he growls. "She's just a money hungry asshole." At my expression, he shakes his head. "I didn't sleep with her no matter how she made it sound. The ‘meeting' she mentioned was her trying to sell her half-brother's ranch out from underneath him. She thought Circle Bee would be willing to buy it while he's out of town in the rodeo circuit. She's shopped it around to lots of people, but the Green River Basin is nothing but loyal, and the Savage family has owned Fairview Acres for as long as most of us can remember. They ain't going to go changing that because Darla Savage is mad no one will marry her."

I blink. "Oh," I reply stupidly. "I'm sorry for assuming. I didn't realize."

"I don't blame you," he shrugs, and the tension starts to ease. "I gotta stop flirting with random people. Honestly, I owe like seven people relationships right now," he laughs. He eyes me. "You're alright, Fable Everhart. I think that interaction deserves a coffee. Go on up this street and we'll stop at Georgia's place. She has the best coffee."

" Another onion ," Jinx comments from the back seat. " Seems Wyoming is full of ‘em ."

My eyes flick to the rearview mirror and because I'm stupid, I don't think about how Rhett is still looking at me. He frowns and turns in his seat, following my gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

" Careful, Everhart. Wouldn't want them to think you're insane ," Jinx laughs. " Or maybe this one would enjoy it. He seems the type ."

"Nothing," I answer, smiling gently as I put the truck into reverse and start easing out of the parking spot. "Coffee sounds great."