“Where are you taking me?” I ask as soon as he’s in. “Or is it a surprise?”
“Keyapaha Peak,” he says, starting the engine. He looks at me, drinking me in before flashing a megawatt smile. “It’s a butte about ten miles outside of town. You can see everything from there. All the stars. All the hills.” He pulls out of the alley and turns down a side street. “It’s quiet and peaceful. About the only place I can go anymore to hear myself think.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, there’s nothing special about Bonesteel Creek … except for maybe this place. Just thought you might want to see it before you go.”
“It sounds amazing. Thank you.”
Seth dials the radio knob and a slow country love song plays softly from the speakers. The windows are cracked a few inches, letting in a tepid June breeze carrying the scent of freshly cut hay.
Ten minutes later, we pull down a rutted dirt road flanked by a canopy of old trees. Seth comes to a stop at the top of a hill.
“We’re going to have to walk from here,” he says, killing the engine but flicking on the headlights.
I meet him at the front of the truck, pausing for a second to let my eyes adjust to the beam of his headlights against pitch black countryside.
Sliding his hand into the bend of my elbow, he leads me over the rocky hillside until we reach the crest of a butte. And when we reach the top, he slips his hand into mine.
Smooth.
I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, but it’s … something.
Wonderment mixed with nervousness disguised as hope?
All I know for sure is that being with Seth completely takes my mind off Grant and my current living situation, so that’s a plus.
“This is it,” he says, releasing his hold on me and taking a seat on the edge of a flat piece of rock. He pats the spot beside him.
It’s beautiful here, under a blanket of a billion stars we can see for miles.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s just like you said it would be.” I watch him from the corner of my eye, not brave enough to ask what he’s thinking about because we’re still a couple of strangers, and I don’t even know his last name. “Peaceful. Serene.”
“When I was a kid and I’d get myself into some trouble, I’d always come out here to hide until my Daddy calmed down,” he says with a nostalgic chuckle.
“I have a hard time believing you were an ornery child.”
He laughs. “Believe it. I was a real pain in the ass. Military did me some good in that department, I think.”
“Ah, yes. The girls at the bar said you were a veteran,” I say. “They called you a hometown hero. Said you were on TV and everything.”
He tucks his chin, his lips tugging into a humble grin with a side of dimples. “They give me too much credit. I was just doing the right thing, that’s all.”
“Sometimes doing the right thing is hard,” I say. “Give yourself a little credit.”
He shrugs. “Anyway, enough about me. What brought you out here? I don’t think you told me.”
“I grew up here,” I say. “We moved when I was fifteen. My dad passed unexpectedly, and my mom couldn’t keep the farm going on her own with three kids, so we moved to Kansas City to live with our grandmother. I haven’t been back until now.”
“Why now? Just seems kind of random.”
“I recently ended an engagement.” I inspect my palms, pitted with rock and gravel from the butte, and I dust them off on my jeans before resting my elbows on my knees. “I wanted to go someplace that made me happy. Somewhere with good memories. All my best ones were here.”
He snuffs. “That’s pretty honorable. Most girls I know would head to the bar, get hammered, and try to find a one-night stand to ease the pain.”
“I’m not most girls.”
“I know.”
Our eyes meet in the dark, shiny and curious. Under the shade of night, he can’t see me blush, and with at least a foot between us, I’m thankful he can’t hear the drum of my heart pounding in my chest.
“Have you always been this charming?” I ask.
“Charming?” He scratches above a cocked eyebrow.
I laugh. “You always say the right things. You’re extremely easy to be around. I hardly know you, but it doesn’t feel that way. You have this very calming presence about you.”
Seth shrugs, folding his hands and resting them on his knees. Staring at the hillside, he says, “I like people. I’m a people person. If that makes me charming, then I guess I am.”
I watch him from the corner of my eye, wondering what his lips taste like or if he’s thinking about kissing me as much as I’m thinking of kissing him right now.
I don’t want anything from him except for an experience I’ll remember the rest of my life. I want the feels. I want the tingles. And I want to look back on my time in Bonesteel Creek and remember that one guy who made me feel like everything was going to be okay.
“Do you ever think that—” I begin to ask … until his phone rings.
“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling it from his pocket. “It’s the bar. I have to take this.”
“It’s fine.” I give him a gracious nod and zip my lips.
“What’s going on?” he asks the caller, biting his lower lip. A second later, he pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. “Of course he did. All right. Tell them I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
My heart sinks. So much for hope floating.
So much for a knee-weakening kiss to remember under a sky full of stars.
Seth ends the call and turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Leighton. There’s an issue at the bar. Some guys causing trouble. Police were called. I’ve got to head back and deal with that.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him, rising and carefully stepping down from the top of the butte. He follows, his hands steadying my hips so I don’t slip and fall.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes again. “When you’re a one-man show …”
“Seth, don’t worry about it,” I say. “I completely understand. This is your business, your job, your livelihood. I get it.”
The ride back to town is quiet, and I imagine he’s worried with the impending shit storm he’s about to walk into. I’ve heard of bars getting shut down when there’s gun violence or issues with serving underage patrons. All it takes is one incident and it’s all over.
“Rain check?” he asks when we arrive back at The Oasis. Flashes of blue and red light the alley, and a handful of cop cars have the street blocked off out front.
“Sure.”
“Give me your number.” He pulls his phone out, and I program myself into his contacts. “I’ll call you.” He pauses. “I mean it. I will. I want to see you again.”
“I want to see you again too.”
Sliding out of his truck, I make my way back to my car and drive back to the farm. The house is dark when I arrive, and I don’t see River’s truck.