5. Reeves

five

A piece of land was my first ingredient to a fresh start. The second was my Dodge Ram I named Dusty. He wasn't new; not even close, but new-enough-to me.

The third ingredient to a fresh start was driving Dusty dangerously fast. The smell of burning rubber dulled the taste of iron, while pumping me full of adrenaline shots to counter the constant surge of cortisol I'd been living with for years.

I cranked the wheel, pulling over to the corner of Main Street. I barely found a parking spot, as the downtown streets were blocked off. They were setting up an event of some sort. When I hopped out of my truck, I inhaled crisp, clean air that was a bit chillier than usual for this time of year. An early snowstorm had been in the forecast for later this week. That meant I needed to hustle to fix my broken pipe. My worn boots left a faint dust I'd picked up from my scoria crusted driveway as I walked to the diner, and I rattled the old-fashioned bell jingle as I opened the door.

New to town, you'd think the tight-knit locals wouldn't have much to say, but it turned out I was the fresh gossip they craved, especially the old blue-haired ladies who played pinochle here in the mornings. This was my third time stopping here this week, and I noticed a pattern. The chatter in the diner immediately quieted as soon as I walked through the door.

I was unbelievably good at getting people to shut up.

That part wasn't so bad.

I could feel their eyes on me, and today the counter lady called out, "New guy, how's it going?"

"Can't feel my hand." It was a joke, but the counter lady didn't know my sense of humor and sealed her lips shut from further inquiries. The squint in her gaze as it slid briefly to my prosthetic told me how she really felt. Uncomfortable. I stuck that hand in my pocket and rushed to change the subject. "I'll have a black coffee."

She pushed up the bill of her uniform hat, letting her hair net peek out. She was everyone's scary lunch lady from grade school. All she was missing was a wart on her nose, and a giant spoonful of brussels sprouts. "I'm making a fresh pot. If you can wait one minute, it'll be ready."

I gave a curt nod and pulled out a counter stool.

"How's fixing up the old Barnes farmstead?" the counter lady asked as she readied a large Styrofoam cup and lid.

"It's fine." I ran my tongue along my teeth, pushing the mint around, already not impressed with this conversation.

"They always did have issues with their water." Her head dipped in a confirming bob. "Had to haul the drinking stuff from town."

I pressed my lips together. The only thing I hated more than small talk was nosey small talk.

"Course," the counter lady went on, "that's what you get for not building a basement in this part of the country. You're just asking for frozen—" The pot gurgled a tad forcefully, drawing her attention back to it. "Oh, it's done." She grabbed the pot and poured the piping hot coffee into the cup. While she was adding the lid, she tacked on, "You know, if you need any help in the fields, Tilly Wagner has a whole slew of young boys who are strong. She's always needing some extra money, with her husband running off and all—"

"Thank you." I took the cup out of her hand and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. I didn't have the stomach for gossip. Never was one for small talk. I'd also learned the hard way that those that gossip with you, will surely end up gossiping about you.

"Did you see them setting up for the Fall Festival? It should be starting any moment." The counter lady quickly switched conversations as she grabbed my money and punched numbers into the cash register. Without telling me a total, she dropped change into my hand. "The king hosts a festival every year in the town square, and everyone is invited."

Grimacing, I tried not to complain, but I already knew about the festival. When I closed on my plot of land, King D'Long personally welcomed me to town and invited me to join them. Normally, I'd never go to anything like that. I hated crowds. My anxiety couldn't handle them.

The catch was . . . I still had my eye on two more plots of the king's land. He said they weren't for sale. I hoped to make a good impression and get him to change his mind. Which meant, if the king asked me to come to his festival—and he had—I had to at least make an appearance.

Maybe I'd get lucky and get a chance to talk to him about the land? If not, I could always duck out early. I shoved my change into my pocket, tipped my hat toward the lady, and left.

With coffee in hand, I stepped back out on the sidewalk and headed down the street to the hardware store. Just as I thought, they didn't have what I needed, but I got it ordered. With no water back home, I figured I might as well stick around for dinner at the festival.

Street musicians played loud country music. I wasn't much for crowds, but I didn't mind a good band. As I wandered toward the beat, I passed several food trucks, which smelled so mouth-wateringly delicious that my stomach growled. I wasn't a foodie, but it'd been a while since I'd had savory food like that. Lured by a BBQ food truck with a fat cartoon pig on the outside, I got in line.

If I had felt out of place in this small town all week, now I felt like a giant with four heads. Everyone was paired off in private circles, talking as if they'd all known each other their entire lives. As I stood in line, I'd randomly catch someone staring at me—or rather my hand—before they slid their gaze away.

I sighed, not feeling the least bit offended.

When I got to the front of the line, they had crossed out most of the menu items as being sold out already. The only thing left was pulled pork sandwiches or baby-back ribs. They both sounded good, but if I wanted to eat ribs, I had to sit down. The tables were crowded, and I did NOT want to sit by anyone. "I'll have a sandwich."

Thankfully, the two guys who were working didn't ask any personal questions as they handed over the basket and pointed to the napkin dispenser. I grabbed one and stepped out of the line. As I surveyed the growing crowd, I eased along the back while listening to the music.

The band played from a small stage set up in the middle of the road, and they weren't too shabby. They looked to be about my age, perhaps even in college. Meandering around the tables and away from the crowd, I spotted a little tent with royal guards.

I came here to see the king, and so that's obviously where I need to be . . .

I nonchalantly placed one foot in front of the other, pretending not to notice the area was roped off. This was going to be so easy—" A mammoth guard stepped out in front of me from nowhere, and I smacked into him. "Hi," I blubbered as I bounced back and arched my chin to see his face. The dude was a giraffe.

"This area's roped off." His lips didn't crack a smile, and the intense glare he planted on me warned me not to push him. The last thing I needed was an altercation in my first week in town. That wasn't how I was going to impress the king.

"Oh." I made a large O shape with my lips, pretending only now to notice the guarded area. "I was looking for the bathrooms. I thought it was in this tent."

"Bathrooms are by the food trucks."

"Great. I'll head over . . . that way," I pointed to indicate I was leaving as I turned on my heel. So much for that plan. I stuffed the last of my sandwich into my mouth and decided to call it a night. I didn't know what I'd been thinking. I wasn't going to get near the king tonight. Now that my belly was full, home sounded great.

The entrance area was packed with people. Just the sight of them all lined up, waiting to get in made my stomach knot. I didn't want to weave through them while they all stared at me as if I was the newest museum exhibit. My gaze skirted toward the back alley. That was clear. I could the jump fence and go that way. Yeah, it's a detour, but that's where I was with this whole people thing. I would rather walk miles to avoid one person. People meant questions, and I was done answering questions.

The people annoyed me, but this band was fantastic. I focused on the lyrics, and it sure helped to keep my anxiety attacks at bay. I missed live music. So much so, I was almost whistling by the time I ducked into the alley. As I rounded the corner, my eyes caught sight of someone.

A woman so radiantly dressed in a gown fit for a fairytale wedding she seemed to glow from her position against the brick building. What made me stop wasn't her appearance. Rather, the sobs of distress. She was bawling as if she was in extreme agony. As much as I avoided people, I couldn't let a person suffer. "Ma'am," I infused my voice with empathy. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Continuing to weep into her hands, she didn't lift her face, and I pulled toward her. Maybe she needs a doctor? "What's wrong? Can I call for help?" I offered, taking further steps closer.

"Nobody can help me." Her words fell between broken sobs. "It's just fate."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I cautioned. "Nothing is ever out of your hands. Someone can do something. What's wrong?" I pressed again. My military instincts had taken over. I sensed she was in trouble. "If you're in danger," I whispered in case she was being spied on, "tap your foot."

"I'm not in danger," she exclaimed, dropping her hands to reveal her face. "Unless you think being forced to marry a man you don't even know is unsafe?"

When her fiery eyes met mine, a shiver ran right through me. She looked awfully familiar. I tapped my chin, wondering where I'd seen her before.

Before I had a chance to place her, she called it. "You again!"

"Me?" I immediately got defensive, taking a step back.

Her face had already been a shade of red from all the crying she had been doing, but somehow it managed to flush even deeper, into a shade of crimson, as she pointed an accusing finger in my face. "You're that man from the field."

My brain slammed back to earlier. Before I could check my manners, and well, I didn't really want to have manners because she bothered me, I yelled, "You're that annoying, spoiled princess who keeps trespassing on my land!"

She squared her body with mine but didn't utter a sound as she stood slack jawed, ogling me as if nobody had ever said anything true to her before.

Rolling my hand over my forehead, my annoyance budded. This is why I don't talk to people. I know better than to stop. Even if I am only trying to help, I always end up with the most annoying people. I could be in my truck by now. Now, I'm stuck trying to talk my way out of this.

"Sorry to bother you." I slid one foot in front of the other, hoping to make a clean break from this encounter. "Now that I know you're not in danger, I'll leave you alone." I didn't look back as I took steps back out the alley. I'd gladly walk back through that crowd ten times rather than talk to her!What is she even doing here? Shouldn't she be in her high-security-snob tent?

"You don't have to run off," she annoyingly called after me. "I could use someone to talk to."

"Ah," I tried to speak over my shoulder, but her shaky-teared voice made me look back. "I'm not good at talking." She pressed her hands to her face, wiping new tears. As hard as my heart had become, I could never walk away from a woman crying. My insides froze.

"I can't talk to anyone in my family about this." She was sobbing again. "They are all counting on me to marry King Aswell, so he commits to ending this war." She threw her hands out in question. "I don't even know him, let alone want to get married. If I don't do it," she rambled, her voice growing urgent and more afraid, "this war will continue forever. My father will have to sell everything. The rest of the art, our farmland, and—"

Ping!

My brain shuddered through the words. Her dad, the king, will SELL the rest of his land . . . And I pivoted, turning back to her, my eyes laser-focused on her lips. "What did you say?"

She swiped her nose and sniffed through a few hiccup sobs. I read her lips as she spoke. "The king who wants to marry me has a powerful military. He promised to end this war if I marry him." Her lips pinched in agony and another weep tumbled out. "But I can't marry a man I don't know!"

"You can't," I echoed, my brain connecting the dots of her rambled story. Apparently, her dad would sell the land unless she got married. If she gets married . . . he wouldn't need to sell the land. My eyes grew large, and I was seeing this whole situation of mine—and hers—in a new light.

She can't get married!

That will be terrible for me! I'll never get my land, and I won't be able to farm enough to live off the land I have. I'll have to move back to some overpopulated city, get a city job and drown in all the people! "Oh, no," I breathed out with so much concern I almost got dizzy. "You can't get married. That's a terrible idea."

"What?" Her voice quivered from the lingering sobs, but she shot me a quizzical look. "You don't think I should do it to save our kingdom? People are dying."

"I don't . . ." I shook my head, feeling how wrong this whole situation was for me. I was so close to getting more land. I could have cattle, and hay, and earn enough to live and never have to go anywhere near anybody. If she got married, and the war ended, the country would grow strong. I wanted that. Of course, I wanted this country to flourish, but not before I got my land! To get information, I asked questions in a casual tone, "So, your dad is pretty stressed?"

"Yes." Her voice was somber. "There's been a lot of developments with . . . things."

"Interesting," I mused while I rubbed my chin. "Does he sound desperate?" I winced, and quickly tacked on, "I mean, it has to be so stressful to be a powerful king in charge of so many people's lives."

"He must be desperate to do this." Her eyes pinched, teasing more tears. I honestly don't know where she was getting them from at this point. She had to be about dehydrated.

"Good," I accidentally blurted out, and rushed to cover, "I mean, good that's, he's, um, er." I bit my tongue as this wasn't working. "Does he need help? Can I offer help?" I stammered with a new approach. "I could buy something . . ."

"He needs a lot of help. Which is why I must do this . . ." Her voice trailed off, and underneath the lingering tears, there was a solid conviction that scared me.

"You can't marry a man you don't love," I blurted. I was begging, ready to take a knee in front of her. This was both of our last chances at happiness. "It's a . . . betrayal of your own self." I was never what you call a romantic type, as I was practical about everything. I honestly didn't care if she wanted to marry a monkey, but at this point, I was invested in this marriage. I need some sort of fantasy to sell her to put off this marriage until after I have my land.

"Think about everything you'd miss out on," I urged. She hiked a curious brow, which confirmed I was taking this argument in the right direction. "Love is life's greatest treasure. You can't give up on that, before you even try." My gaze bored into her eyes, pleading. "You're a beautiful woman, who probably has an amazing personality. Wait." I squeezed my hands into fists, pleading. "Wait to marry until you find that special person who sees you, and not just your royal position."

Her lashes fluttered, blinking back more tears, but her voice was slightly stronger. "I never thought of it that way."

"Think about it this way," I echoed, nodding repeatedly like a bobble head. "You deserve to wait to marry someone you love more than anything. Someone who makes your heart flutter just being near them. Someone who would die for you, finishes your sentences, and loves you for—"

"F-for me," she rushed to complete my sentence. Before I even understood what was happening, we both fell silent. Our gazes entwined as if we were both given the privilege to peek behind a hidden layer in the other. It's that moment you see in fairy tales, boy meets girl or whatever you called it. Even though we weren't meeting for the first time, something felt off—or instead on about the moment. Call it a redo or take two. A spark or an explosion. I didn't care what you named it. Something happened, and I was too scared to move.

Her eyes widened, revealing all the glistening specks of her emotions like blue-violet ripples pulsating around her pupils.

"Yeah," I whispered, feeling the reverie linger, only to seep deeper into my chest. "For you," I echoed. Then quickly tacked on with a tilt of my head, "Who are you?"

"Erralee," Her voice was slightly more potent than mine, making me doubt she was experiencing the same thing I was. What was happening?

"Reeves." I didn't force a smile, and I couldn't pull my gaze from her. I feared she'd disappear the moment I looked away, because even though she looked completely real, there was still something so surreal I proceeded with extreme caution.

Like in the movies, the band in the background suddenly crescendos, pulling our attention to the up-tempo swing beat. I was clearly out of my mind as I reached my hand forward, making my intentions clear that I was requesting a dance. I was in a trance. What do they call these things? Love spells. Whatever it was, I had it. All I wanted to do was be near her. Which is absurd because I hate people. Wait, this wasn't a real attraction. It can't be. I'm clearly just desperate to get her to stop her wedding. Yeah . . . that's why I'm acting this way. I need her to like me, so she doesn't like her fiancé.

Her lashes lowered, but her sweet smile curled on her lips. "I don't know these steps."

"It's just the jitterbug," I pressed my hand out further, insisting. "I'll teach you." Her head turned away, declining. I was out of my mind and stepped forward, slipping my arm around her. I'd never been so forward with a woman, or felt so thoroughly in my place as I did right now. My mind was going full throttle through all the things. Did she really smell this amazing, like fields of lilies and honey, or am I just disoriented by my desperation to stop this wedding?

She allowed me to guide her forward, and I eased her into the steps, back and then under my arms. When she came out giggling, I knew I could speed it up, and I did.

Jitterbugging, for me, was a high-intensity sport. The more twists I could add to it, the better, and it didn't take me long to see Erralee was a willing dance partner. Nobody would even be able to tell I was missing a real hand. Truthfully, this was one of the first times I didn't notice I was missing a hand. I wasn't as focused on my body as I was her smile. Her lips curled across her whole face, enough to make dimples ripple on each cheek. Each time I flung her under my arms, she let out an airy giggle like she was on the most fun roller coaster ride, which only encouraged my big ego to dance faster.

I was on a mission to make her like me, and the more she giggled, the more I accepted that as a green light. She kept up, only missing steps a few times, but we quickly picked back up, carrying on until the song was over. We twirled until we couldn't hold on for another moment, breaking our hold of each other, and we were left standing a proper arm's length apart.

My lips parted, about to speak, when royal trumpets blared. Erralee's brows instantly shot to the sky. "I must go! They"re announcing my father. He'll be livid if I'm not there."

"Wait—" I reached forward, fingers grasping at the air, but she was gone. I knew not to follow her. Something had happened that I couldn't explain. A stirring in my heart I hadn't ever felt, but I had to be crazy for feeling this way.

Erralee is a princess who is engaged to a king. She is beautiful, and I let her beauty distract me for a second.

This was clearly just my anxiety. I'm so stressed out about finding a way to pay my bills. A blip in my heart, only confusing me. Shaking my head, releasing the last of my fantasy, I turned and walked back to Dusty.

Now, back to fixing that pipe.