13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

C lark didn’t return for several hours. While he was gone, Cleo gave in to all the country fantasies she’d never known she always had. In addition to finding eight new eggs, she slopped the pigs–giant, ugly things, not cute Wilber-like things–as the chickens flocked to Dottie moving around the yard. She was the center of their world and it was honestly adorable to watch. Cleo also fed and milked the cow, or tried to milk her. Dottie did most of the work, because milking a cow was hard! Cleo’s hands ached afterward. Country life was a lot more work than she’d ever imagined. And by ever imagined, she meant picturing herself in two braids down either side of her head, in overalls, lying in a field of wildflowers. As if ranchers have time to nap!

The reality was much different. When Cleo accidentally knocked over a pail in the yard and scared a chicken, it came flying at her face. “Ah!” she yelled as instinct took over. She did the first thing she could think of: duck and cover. Her chest heaved as she cowered in the yard, waiting for the chicken to return for a second attack. Would it bring its friends this time? Peeking through her fingers, she spied no chickens lurking nearby, but that didn’t mean they weren’t conspiring against her.

Dottie found Cleo in the yard with her hands cradling her head between her knees.

She began to roar with laughter. Cleo kept her distance from the girls the rest of the time she was there. She’d never again believe the phrase “No harm, no foul.” Fowl could inflict plenty of harm, she’d learned.

Once her pulse returned to normal, Cleo made small talk with Dottie while they made country-fried steak for dinner, trying to keep both their minds off the men that could be headed their way even now.

“I never expected I would marry, you know,” Dottie mentioned while they cooked. “I gave that dream up years ago.”

“Well, I think Clark was right. You’re getting a second chance, and throwing it away like you did this morning wasn’t your best idea.”

“That boy is smarter than he looks,” Dottie said about Clark. “The handsome ones don’t always have much goin’ on upstairs, but that one does. You’d best not let him get away from ya.”

Dottie’s words caused the potato masher to slip right out of Cleo’s hands and onto the floor. She got flecks of potato all over her feet, cupboards, and the tile. She began cleaning up the mess while asking, “What do you mean, don’t let him get away?”

“I thought my meanin’ was pretty clear. You’d better hogtie that boy before you get to Texas, or he might just slip away.”

Cleo wiped at potatoes between her toes. “I’m not trying to catch anyone right now, Dottie.”

“Well, why not? Aren’t you the one who was just lecturin’ me about gettin’ a second chance?”

Cleo’s brow creased. “But I’ve never had a first chance with Clark, so how can this be a second?”

“I’m not talkin’ about a second chance with him, just with love. You did just run away from a weddin’, didn’t ya?”

“Well, yes,” Cleo conceded, “but I wasn’t in love with my fiance?.” Every time she admitted that out loud she could hardly believe it herself. Why did she ever agree to marry a man she wasn’t in love with?

“And now the good Lord has seen fit to place you in the same car with a man who you could love if you just gave him a chance.”

“Dottie, I think you’re mistaken. Clark and I…we don’t even really like each other.”

Dottie stopped dragging meat through whatever it was she was covering it with and faced Cleo fully. “Are you daft, woman?”

Cleo blinked several times. “I’d like to think not.”

“Well, haven’t you noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

Dottie frowned. “That boy is crazy ‘bout ya. He looks at you like you’re a prize heifer.”

Cleo’s head reared back. That was the least attractive thing Cleo had ever been compared to and her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Noticing, Dottie amended that statement. “I mean, he looks at you like you’re a Pulitzer and he wants to win it more than anything else.”

“The Pulitzer?”

“Yeah, ain’t that the prize newspapermen covet?”

Cleo wasn’t sure what that had to do with Clark. Was Clark a newspaperman? She hadn’t considered that.

“Darlin’, Clark looks at you like you’re precious and special and he wants more than anythin’ to have you.”

Well, the jury was in: Dottie was nuts. Cleo had known that, but seeing her beautiful ranch had made her forget. Clark didn’t look at her much at all, let alone like she was something to win over.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“You might be oblivious, but I’m not, and I’ve been watchin’ you two. You’re two-steppin’ around each other right now, but if you wanted a partner, he’d be willin’.”

Cleo threw away the paper towels covered in potato and sanitized the masher before putting it back in the bowl and squishing the vegetable to a pulp. She recounted every interaction she’d had with Clark since they’d met two days before. Not once could she recall any look of longing or real attraction apart from the normal looks a guy gives a pretty girl. Cleo had been the recipient of those kinds of looks from men her entire life; maybe she was so used to them she hadn’t even noticed Clark giving them to her.

She almost found herself wishing Dottie was right as the two women finished their food prep and set the table, hoping they would eat before the food got cold. Cleo had just started to wonder if Clark had made a break for it when headlights turned onto the lane and slowly approached the house. Dottie froze where she stood, nearly dropping the pan she was setting on the table. “I’m just going to…” she began inching toward the back door when Cleo grabbed her arm to keep her in place.

“Dottie, remember what we discussed? You can do this. I’ll be right here.” Cleo’s suspicions about what Clark had been doing were confirmed when two car doors slammed and two voices got closer to the house. The lower one was Clark’s, and the other must have belonged to–

“Dale!” Dottie paused for only a moment before launching herself into Dale’s arms as he walked through the door. His eyebrows shot up to what would’ve been his hairline if he’d had any hair left there. He wrapped his arms around Dottie as she continued to exclaim. “Oh Dale, I’m so, so sorry for yelling at you, and throwing things at you. I promise that’ll never happen again!”

Cleo’s heart warmed as Dottie and Dale embraced. If that wasn’t true love, then she couldn’t believe it existed at all. That they could find love at their age gave Cleo hope that maybe she would someday, too. She couldn’t help a glance at Clark as they tiptoed to the back door and let the couple have a moment to themselves. Who exactly was this enigma of a man? She’d never have guessed two days ago that inside he was such a marshmallow.

Cleo joined Clark at the porch rail as the sun dipped lower and lower. It lit up the entire sky in a way Cleo had never seen in New York, and she felt overwhelmed with its beauty. Bronze turned into ochre and rosy hues, dappled with ivory clouds. Emotion came bubbling up from her chest and she couldn’t hold it in. Turning to Clark, who was quiet next to her, Cleo choked, “That was…you really….What you did for Dottie and Dale….”

“It really was nothing.”

Cleo’s mouth fell open. “That wasn’t nothing. You just drove all the way back to Jackson to track down a man who was probably skittish after the way he’d been treated this morning, to convince him to come with you to a place he probably wasn’t sure he’d be welcomed to. That was definitely something.”

Their gazes were drawn back to the hills soaking up every last inch of light they could. “My sister Greta is a little bit like Dale,” he said, kicking a rail lightly with his shoe. “She’s a romantic who never got over her husband leaving her.”

Cleo’s heart quickened. Clark hadn’t shared much about himself with her, and she was willing to bet a lot of money that it was unusual for him to share with anyone. “She’s spent the last ten years looking for someone to love her like she wants to be loved. My parents and I have tried to be enough for her, but she needs more. She dates a lot, but she keeps picking people exactly like her ex. She’s lonely and has given up hope. I don’t want that for Dale, or for Dottie. They deserve to find happiness together.”

“It seems pretty hopeless, doesn’t it?” Cleo mused. “I don’t know anyone who has a good relationship.”

Clark stepped down to the grass. “My parents do. They’ve been happily married for almost forty years.” Cleo was glad Clark had that in his life. She certainly hadn’t seen it.

The food on the table inside was growing cold and Cleo was hungry, but she didn’t dare go in or interrupt the lovers. Instead, she and Clark decided to take a walk in the twilight.

Cleo was a good six inches shorter than Clark; she had to walk a lot faster to keep up with him, though he probably felt he was walking slowly. His arms swung by his sides as they strolled, loose and carefree. Cleo’s hand brushed Clark’s, purely by accident, and her heart banged in her chest. Clark immediately stuck his hands into his pockets and Cleo hoped he didn’t think she’d touched him on purpose.

Birds swooped and trilled in the fields as they walked along the fence surrounding the yellow plants growing there. A familiar birdsong fluted down from the trees. Three coos, long short long, that fell off at the end. A wave of contentment washed over, surprising her. A chuckle escaped Cleo’s lips.

“What are you laughing about?”

“I’m just surprised that I’ve been all over the world, but I’ve never fallen in love with a new place as quickly as I have here.”

Clark gazed out at the fields. “I feel the same. I wonder why that is?”

“It’s pretty, but it’s just a field and some hills. Nothing to compare to the Alps or the Mediterranean. I can’t figure out why.”

He wagged his eyebrows. “Clearly, it’s the company.”

A laugh burst out of Cleo again. “Clearly.”

Clark was quiet for a moment before replying, “I wonder if it’s because for the first time you’re doing something on your terms.”

Cleo’s brows knit together. She’d been given a fair amount of freedom in her life; other than her engagement, she’d never felt completely coerced into anything before. But as she let Clark’s statement sink in, it seemed to ring true. Perhaps she had felt like she was always living someone else’s agenda. Her father’s for most of her life, and lately Jameson’s. This was the first time Cleo had done something completely independent of anyone else, and she loved the freedom.

“You might be right,” she nodded perfunctorily. Then she remembered what Clark had admitted. “Why do you think it’s true for you?”

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and set his elbows on the fence. Cleo waited for him to speak. “Unlike you, I haven’t been to many foreign places. I don’t have a whole lot to compare this to.” He breathed deeply. “But there’s just something about this place. Maybe it’s the lack of pollution.”

Cleo did enjoy the clean air, but she didn’t think that was it. She hazarded a guess, just as he had about her. “Maybe it’s the slower pace? The lack of a deadline?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I mean, I haven’t really seen you working on anything, so I’m assuming you don’t have a deadline hanging over you. I’m not really sure how it works with writers, though.”

“I do live by deadlines, normally,” he agreed. “Maybe that’s it.” He didn’t sound very convinced, however, and Cleo wondered what he was really thinking.

They continued walking in the same direction, taking turns kicking the same small rock in front of them like a soccer ball. Cleo was used to being around oversharers, people who told you all about themselves whether you’d asked for details or not. This was a new experience to have to work to get info out of someone. Clark was like a vault, and Cleo hadn’t been given the combination. She wondered if anyone had. She was just about to ask when she realized she couldn’t spot the rock in front of her anymore. Night had fallen without her realizing it.

Clark must have noticed at the same time because his steps slowed as hers did. “We should probably get back.”

“Yes,” Cleo agreed. When neither person moved, however, Cleo wondered if Clark had something to say.

She couldn’t see Clark very well, but she sensed that he was studying her in the darkness.

“Cleo?”

“Hm?”

“Do you regret leaving your wedding?”

“What?”

“I mean, now that it’s been a few days, would you do it differently if you could do it over again?”

Cleo started walking slowly back toward the house, the lights shining from the windows illuminating their path just enough to see where they stepped.

“I don’t regret leaving, though I do wish I could have told my father where I’m going so he wouldn’t worry.”

“How does he not know?”

Cleo chewed on her lip. “He doesn’t know that I know.”

“Know what?”

“That I know this person.”

Clark walked silently beside her. “Are you going to meet a man?”

Cleo nearly stumbled. “What?”

“Whoever you’re meeting tomorrow. Did you leave your fiance? for another guy?”

Cleo’s brow furrowed. “You think I’m running away to another man?”

“It makes sense. Or it did a few minutes ago.” She saw him pass a hand over the back of his neck.

Cleo picked up the pace. “I didn’t leave my fiance? for another guy. I told you last night that I’d never been in love.”

Clark quickened his pace to match hers. “I’m sorry. I guess the writer in me jumped to conclusions, thinking I knew what might motivate someone to leave someone at the altar.”

Cleo wondered how much thought Clark had been putting into her situation, and why he was thinking about it so much. “Would you think less of me if there was another guy?”

“It’s not my place to judge you,” he said.

“Then why did you ask?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I guess I’m trying to figure you out.”

Cleo muttered, “Says the vault.”

“What did you say?”

“I called you a vault.”

Clark walked beside her for a minute without replying. Cleo was just about to clarify when he said, “I’m not used to talking about myself.”

She guffawed. “You think?”

He looked sideways at her. “And I’m not used to anyone caring that I don’t share.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated.

“Yes, why? Why does an attractive, twenty-something–thirty-something?–not have anyone care about him?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t have anyone who cares about me. I said no one tried to get me to share my feelings.”

“Sounds like the same thing to me.” He didn’t answer her question, and Cleo let it drop.

They’d made it all the way to the back porch when Clark stopped Cleo with a gentle tug on her arm before she could ascend the steps.

“I hope my prying questions didn’t offend.”

Cleo looked down at the hand on her arm and Clark removed it when he realized he was still grasping her. “I’m not offended.”

When she glanced up he was staring into her eyes. “Good.”

She stared right back. “Good.”

Cleo couldn’t move, held in place by his intent gaze. His eyes seemed like dark pools she could dive into if only she dared. Without deciding to, she took a step toward Clark as he shifted to fully face her. The light from the house allowed her to see him well enough.

His chest moved up and down as he studied her like a piece of art he was trying to decipher. Examining one side of her face, then another, his head tilted slightly as he took in her features. She’d never empathized with Mona Lisa, whoever she was, more than she did right now as Clark DaVinci-ed the crap out of her. It was unsettling at first, but as she breathed and relaxed into the moment, she found she quite liked being inspected so closely by him. Especially when his eyes flared like he seemed to like what he saw. Those eyes found hers and held, daring her to back down. She wouldn’t if he wouldn’t. Cleo’s heart started doing cartwheels and holding up pom-poms yelling, “Get it, girl!”

Clark swayed toward her and Cleo braced for contact just as the back door burst open and Dottie exclaimed, “I’m an engaged woman, y’all!”