Chapter 7
Tanner
THE DOOR CLICKS CLOSED BEHIND me and I have to open and close my fists at my side to keep from punching the wall or bellowing for all the world to hear the anger and hurt I felt looking at the scars on Abby’s ribs.
And then I remember her beautiful body and all that long messy hair pulled up in a ponytail and I think, who could look at all that sweetness of her face and hurt her? Whoever was given the gift of Abby to love and protect and didn’t do his job, is an idiot and an asshole.
I hear the latch on the door click open and close again before she clears her throat. I plaster a warm smile on my face and turn around to meet her gaze. If there’s one thing I do tonight, it’ll be make her feel safe and protected—wanted.
“You said something about cider?” she asks.
“Funny you should mention that,” I say as I hold out my elbow for her to take like the perfect gentleman my mama raised me to be. She pauses before hesitantly placing her hand on my elbow and I can see that her trust is going to be hard won but so worth it. “I know a place that makes the best apple cider.”
“What a coincidence,” she smiles a crooked little smile. “It’s my very favorite thing.”
I lead her down the stairs to my truck and all the way around to the passenger side. I love the look on her face when I open the door for her and help her into her seat. She doesn’t need me to do these things for her, but I do them because I want to show her what it’s like to be treated with care and respect. I walk around the truck and hop into the driver’s seat.
It’s about a twenty-minute drive from the motel to the Jennings’ orchard and Abby watches the trees with their red and orange falling leaves and the purple streaked amber sky in the setting sun pass by with rapt attention. I don’t know where she came from, but I understand what she’s feeling as she watches the painted Texas sky pass by from her window. When I left for the Marine Corps, I travelled all over, to the other end of the world and back, and no sunset is as beautiful as those you see in Mason.
I pull into the dirt lot of the orchard that’s open to the public. The Jennings’ orchard offers seasonal picks year-round: in the summer you can picnic with sandwiches and pick strawberries until you can’t eat or carry them. In the early fall the apple trees are full to bursting and they make their own cider here on the property. In late fall like we are now, you can pick pumpkins and go for hayrides and in winter you can choose and chop your own Christmas tree. There’s truly something for everyone here.
I grab a big flannel blanket and my heavy canvas jacket from the backseat before stepping from the truck and walking around to the passenger side to open the door for Abby. I set my haul on the hood of the truck so that I can wrap my hands around her waist and pull her from the cab. I can hear her breath catch in her chest when my hands make contact with her body. “Go slow,” I tell myself. She smiles at me so bright that her eyes twinkle and her whole face lights up. Abby looks at me like I hung the moon and in that moment, I want her to look at me like that forever.
I touch my palm to the small of her back and guide her through the entrance marked with twinkle lights and right up to the cider booth where Mrs. Jennings is sitting with her daughters who preen when they see me, but slump down when they see Abby. She’s amazing even in jeans and sneakers.
“Well, hey there, Tanner,” Mrs. Jennings says to me. “I heard your mama say you would be here tonight with a girl, I just didn’t believe it.” I wince at her words. I haven’t been a big dater since I got back from the Marines.
“Yes, ma’am.” I smile. “Here I am.”
“And who is your friend here?” she asks, and I notice she emphasized the word friend.
“This is my date, Abigail,” I say as I pull her closer to my body in protection of the unattached women at the booth. And not her protection, but protection of me.
“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am,” she says to Mrs. Jennings.
“It’s nice to meet you too, sweet girl. Would you like some cider?”
“Yes, please.” Mrs. Jennings hands her a paper cup before turning to me.
“I suppose you want some too, young man.” She sighs a put-upon sigh before winking at me.
“You know that I do.” I laugh as she rolls her eyes at me.
“Here you go, baby.” She smiles at me handing me my own cup. My mom and Mrs. Jennings have been best friends for ages. I pull my wallet from my pocket, but she refuses, saying, “You put that away. You know your money’s no good here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say to her. “Thank you.”
“You tell Miss Edna I said she owes me a rematch at cards!” she calls out to us as Abby and I are walking away. Those two and their card games. Sometimes, I honestly don’t know how they’re both still friends as bad card sharks as they are, but then again, a friendship like theirs is hard to kill.
Abby and I sip our drinks as we walk over to the line for the hayride and see the usual cast of characters waiting to climb onto the big wagon that’s pulled by two Belgian Draft Horses. Hay lines the sides of the wagon for people to sit on.
“Oh,” Abby breathes. “They’re beautiful.” She looks so much like a little girl who always wanted Santa to bring her a pony for Christmas every year, the ones that had those rainbow Lisa Frank horses all over their notebooks in school. And I love that I gave her that.
“Want to go ask Mr. Jennings if you can meet them?” I ask her.
“Can we?” She jumps a little in her excitement.
“Of course.” I smile as I lead her over to where Mr. Jennings stands with his horses.
“Mr. Jennings,” I say as I hold out my hand to shake his.
“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t Tanner Savage,” he says, smiling wide as he shakes my hand. “How is your mama?”
“She’s great, sir, thank you. I’d like you to meet Abigail.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Abigail,” he says softly to her as he eyes her up, no doubt he’s heard all about the new girl in town. Gossip travels fast in a town like ours.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” she says quietly. “You have beautiful horses.”
“Would you like to meet Merle and Waylon?” he asks her, and I have to bite back a smile at the way her eyes light up.
“Yes, please,” she says. “I would love to.”
“Here you go,” he says as he offers her sugar cubes. “Just hand these to the boys and tell them that they’re handsome and they will be putty in your hands before you know it. Kind of like another big bruiser we both know.” He winks at her and I feel my cheeks blush.
“It’s lovely to meet you boys,” she says as she strokes their noses and I think about another big beast that would like to be stroked by her. I feel my jeans tighten at the thought. Go slow.
Abby feeds Waylon and Merle their treats and just as Mr. Jennings said, they were putty in her hands. Merle, who is arguably kind of a bastard as he always nips my ass if I get too close to him, nuzzled her. And I swear he gave me the eye, one that said neener-neener-neener I’ve got your girl, asshole.
I have never been gladder than when Mr. Jennings told everyone it was time to load up on the wagon. That Merle is a real jerk. Waylon is sweet as pie though. And doesn’t nip my ass.
I walked Abby around to the back of the wagon where there is an opening to climb up. I grab her by the waist again and lift her up. Her cheeks blush beautifully as she heats to my touch no matter how innocuous. I hand her our blanket and then climb up behind her.
“Choose our seats,” I tell her, and she grins at me before leading me to a prime corner spot. “Excellent choice,” I tell her, and she blossoms to the complement. It makes me want to give them to her frequently.
I sit down next to her on the hay bale and settle the red flannel blanket we brought over our laps. Mr. Jennings drives the horses around the orchard and through the trees. It’s a beautiful ride through the countryside and all I can see is Abby and the bright smile of wonder and delight on her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she says looking out at all the tall trees.
“Yes, it is.” She looks back and me before dropping her gaze to her lap. That pink creeps across her cheeks again.
We ride for another hour or so before we stop. It’s completely dark now but that’s the fun of the hayride. I hope she likes the next part just as much.
“Why are we stopping?” she asks me.
“To pick our pumpkins, of course.”
“We’re picking pumpkins?” she asks. Her expression is bright with excitement and I can’t help but wonder how many times she got to pick a pumpkin in her life. I’m glad I got to give that to her too.
“Well, what else are we going to carve into jack-o’-lanterns tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’ve never done that before,” she whispers and my heart clenches for the woman who didn’t get a chance to do kid things.
“Well, I’m happy to be your first,” I say, winking at her. Apparently, the move startles her because she stumbles before she falls off of the back of the wagon.
“Eeek!” she shrieks.
“Abby! Are you okay?” I shout as I jump from the wagon, but she’s popping right back up, dusting hay and dirt from her fantastic ass. This girl should be put in a bubble she’s so accident prone.
“I’m good, I’m good,” she laughs. “Not let’s find me a pumpkin!”
“Good, baby,” I say so softly that only she can heart it. “Then let’s find you a pumpkin.”
Abigail races down the neatly planted rows of pumpkins—and I follow her like a lost puppy—until she finds the mother of all gourds. It has to be a sixty-pound pumpkin. Her broad smile stretches clear across her face. She’s so proud of her find I know I’m going home with this big ass pumpkin and a smile on my face. I would buy her the moon if it made her smile like that.
“Great work, Charlie Brown,” I laugh as I pull my folding knife from my pocket and cut her pumpkin away from the vine.
“What?” she asks, the confusion is clearly painted across her beautiful face and I stare at her for a minute. Who hasn’t seen The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown? The Answer is Abigail.
“I’m adding a movie to our pumpkin carving tomorrow,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she answers.
We climb back into the wagon, this time with our massive pumpkin. I set it on the floor of the wagon at our feet and pull the blanket back up over our laps. Abby sits just a little bit closer to me on the ride back to the front of the orchard and it’s everything. Her thigh ever so gently brushes mine with every little bump or dip the wagon hits. She shivers in the crisp, night air. I’ll take every little step that she’s willing to give me. Her trust in me is everything.
“Are you cold?” I ask her.
“Just a little,” she says. “But I’m okay.”
“Here, take my jacket,” I offer as I slide the old canvas jacket down my arms and wrap it around her. I have to say, I love the look of her bundled up in my coat.
“Thank you,” she says softly as we enjoy the rest of the ride around the orchard in the cool, night air. The stars are out and it’s a beautiful night—but not as beautiful as Abigail.
We pull back into the front of the orchard and I carry our pumpkin to the back of the wagon. I have to set it down before jumping down myself. I reach out for Abigail and place her gently on the ground, giving her a little hug before I release her and then I turn and grab our bounty.
I walk her to the truck and stop and set her pumpkin down before pulling the keys from my pocket and unlocking the door. I pull it open and help her inside. When Abby looks at me, I wink making her blush again, before closing the door softly behind her. Then I load up our big, orange buddy in the back seat before running around to the driver’s side and jumping in.
I drive Abby back to the hotel debating the entire time if I should try and kiss her at the door. I really want to kiss her. One little kiss won’t be so bad, right?
I shouldn’t have worried because as soon as I pulled into the parking lot of the motel, Abigail jumps out running for the motel. I’m not even sure the truck had stopped moving before she hurled herself out.
Shit.
I put it in park and climb out, following her up the stairs. My long legs easily catching up to her even though her short legs are working double time.
“Was the date so bad you had to run away?” I ask softly.
“No,” she sighs. “It was perfect. Story book perfect.”
“Then why did you run?” I ask.
“Because you scare me,” she says. “I don’t want to want you.”
“But you do?” I ask her, my voice husky. “Want me, that is?”
“Yeah,” she says, and she sounds so forlorn.
“I swear to you, Abigail, that you can trust me. I won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” she says, and her words burn through my chest and light a fire in me. I land my mouth on hers for a fast, hard kiss.
Abigail blossoms underneath me letting out a beautiful little moan as she opens up for me. I lick into her mouth eager to taste her but I remind myself the Abby needs slow as much as my dick and I want full speed ahead. Her tongue meets mine in a hesitant but soul blistering kiss. When I pull back from her we’re both panting to catch our breath. I lean in a kiss her forehead, her eyes tipping closed as I do. She has the sweetest responses. This woman could easily take me to my knees in the forever and always kind of a way if I’m not careful. There are some decisions to be made here.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Abby,” I tell her. “I’ll pick you up at noon.”
“I’ll see you then, Tanner,” she says before slipping through the door and I want to fist pump I’m so happy. Whether she wants to or not, Abigail knows that she can trust me.
Until tomorrow, Abigail Williams. Until tomorrow.