Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Charlotte

Just because I’m good at lying doesn’t mean I like to do it. Beau and I are getting ready to set up a lifetime of lies. I keep telling myself it’s the only way but the guilt is gnawing at the edges of my morality.

Can I let my parents believe the Hill’s land is theirs? Can I live in Beau’s house and work as the Hill family vet forever? Can I face his family every day knowing they think of my family as a charity case?

I am backed into a corner like a desperate animal with no way out. Either I learn to live with these lies or watch my family fall apart.

I haven’t given a shit about my appearance since I arrived in Redwater. I mean, who cares about your hair when you’re about to be homeless right?

But today is different; today I’m meeting Beau to discuss his plan in detail and I I’m going to get cleaned up. It seems kind of morbid to get dressed up and do my hair and makeup for a meeting about deceiving my parents. I wouldn’t bother if the meeting were with anyone other than Beau.

He is becoming my knight in shining armor, my superman swooping in to save the day, my hero with a capitol H.

Gag, I can’t believe I’ve become one of those girls. The girls who have to depend on a man to bail them out and support them. I went to college so I could be independent and earn my way in life, not have it handed to me on a silver platter. I took advantage of my anonymity and reinvented myself. I kept my head down and studied hard. I purposely didn’t join a sorority or become a college cheerleader. I didn’t date or go to parties and bars. I was a tiny minnow in an ocean of students trudging through each day trying to get an education and it was a relief.

There was no pressure to look perfect every time I set foot out the door. No faking a smile for hours in front of football fans while I froze my tits off. I wore sweatshirts and leggings with my hair tossed up in a messy bun for four years and it was liberating.

But I still ended up at the mercy of a man, thanks to fucking Mother Nature and her stupid tornado and my dad’s crappy financial decisions.

I guess I could bolt, go back to Iowa and take the veterinarian position I was offered six months ago at the clinic where I’ve been working part time. I could give yearly vaccinations to cats and cure dogs of their dreaded fleas.

I could, but I won’t. I can’t abandon my family and I didn’t go to school to be a vet in a clinic. My dream was to work with the animals on a ranch and Beau is giving me that opportunity.

Mom and Dad walked up the road to the local diner for breakfast at the crack of dawn. Old ranch habits die hard. They’ve been getting up at four in the morning their entire lives.

I however have learned the art of sleeping in while away at college. I got up at the crack of eight o’clock. I showered while Jake Jr. snored in the bedroom, shaking the thin walls of the hotel with every exhalation of breath.

Jake was enjoying not having anything to do, as any idiot would. I don’t think he has worried for one second about his future since the tornado. Must be nice to have so much blind faith, or dead brain cells. He just floats from one day to the next waiting for someone to tell him what to do and where to be. How Cammie can be attracted to a man-boy like Jake Jr. is beyond me.

I dry my hair and pull a few pieces back into a thin braid letting the rest hang in waves on my bare shoulders. My off the shoulder gauzy romper is the perfect balance of country and sophistication. It provides proper coverage of breasts and ass while still accentuating curves and showing a tiny bit of skin.

Being a virgin, and wanting to keep it that way, I learned over the years how to present myself to the world as a beautiful yet wholesome woman. It wasn’t too hard, especially since I was in college where the unofficial uniform is a t-shirt or sweatshirt and jeans or yoga pants. It’s kind of hard to be sexy when you’re essentially wearing a sack.

With a touch of makeup and my freshly cleaned turquoise boots I’m ready. I text Beau and ask where we are meeting.

Beau – The plane hangar in thirty minutes. I won’t be late this time, don’t eat breakfast.

Yeah, sure…

Me – I won’t hurry just in case.

Beau – Fair enough, I’ll wait on you this time.

Why can’t I eat breakfast? I’m starving and I need coffee. There’s nowhere to eat for miles out there. No way am I leaving my caffeine addiction in his hands.

I crack the bathroom door and find Jack Jr. sprawled out on his back in the bed Stella and I slept in last night. Jack Jr. has been sleeping on the floor like a dog for days, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. When we are all gone he crawls into our bed and snores his ass off for hours.

The room is dark as night with the blackout blinds drawn tightly closed. The scent of my coconut body wash mixed with the smell of musty furniture hangs in the air. I wrinkle my nose; these two smells were never meant to mingle.

I shut off the bathroom light and switch on my phone flashlight to pick my way over shoes and clothes to the door.

I glance back when I crack the door and the sun cuts a bright diagonal slice through the room. I sigh at the sight of my families few belongings. I haven’t allowed myself to grieve over the loss of photo albums filled with baby pictures, my parents wedding photos and years of celebrations and holidays that were documented in them. I’ll miss the dozens of antique pieces of furniture that filled our house and the hand sewn quilts on every bed.

Grieving after a natural disaster happens in layers. I read that once. If that’s true then I’m still kicking around in the topsoil. I haven’t had time to consider all the things that are gone. I’m too focused on what’s left, my family.

I softly close the door and turn to face the day, squinting my eyes. It’s a gorgeous day, cumulus clouds fill the sky, a soft breeze blows out of the West, the temperature isn’t too hot yet and for the first time in days I have hope in my heart.

With my purse on my shoulder and my boots clacking against the concrete I set out to find my dad’s truck, coffee and whatever Beau has planned for breakfast.

Pulling up to the hangar I find Beau leaning against his freshly washed truck dressed in black jeans, black cowboy boots, a deep red short-sleeved button down shirt that fits him like a glove and a black cowboy hat.

He is pure Montana perfection. I grip the steering wheel, until my knuckles are white, trying to organize the thoughts in my head and the hormones in my body. Why does Beau do this to me? Whatever this is, I still haven’t figured that out.

I dated in high school, football players, cross country runners, even a computer nerd or two. But none of them, not one, gave me pop rocks in my tummy or held my heart in a vice grip like Beau.

I’m positive that if I had felt anything like this for a boy in high school I would not be a virgin. It was easy to stay away from guys in college, they didn’t have anything I wanted or needed for that matter.

But with Beau it’s different, the way looks at me with his navy blue eyes like I’m the most fascinating person on earth, the effect is knee wobbling.

I pull the truck up next to his, facing the opposite direction and purposely avoid looking out the window at him for a few seconds so I can get my shit together.

My shit collecting is interrupted when he immediately opens the door and offers me his hand.

“Right on time.”

“I was going to say the same to you.” No I wasn’t, I was going to deep breathe for ten seconds but he doesn’t know that.

I take his large calloused hand and he helps me down. It’s a long drop for my five foot one frame but I’m used to it. What I’m not used to is the magnetism flowing from his fingers up my arm, like an IV of warm Whiskey straight to my heart.

I grab on a little tighter when my feet hit the ground. I think I just swooned for the first time in my life. Part of me is disgusted with myself and the other part is intrigued that he has such a strong physiological effect on me. I try to make my mind work, like a doctor of veterinary medicine instead of a lovesick puppy, but it’s useless.

“Whoa there, you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, just short.” My words come out more abrasive than I intended and he steps back letting go of my hand.

“Somebody needs some breakfast.”

“Well it is getting late, a girls got to keep her blood sugar up ya know.”

“Hey now, I’m pretty sure I’m the diabetic here. Do you think you can hold out for another fifteen minutes or so?”

“You’re diabetic?”

“Yes, since I was eight.”

“Type one, that sucks. Good thing I’m a doctor.” I smirk when I refer to myself as a doctor.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“Right place, right time I suppose.” With my balance restored, I turn and grab my purse from the center console in the truck. I have to stand on my tiptoes and I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the gauzy material covering my ass.

When I turn around I catch him staring but he doesn’t jerk his eyes away like I’d expect him to, quite the opposite. He tilts his head to the side and I watch him take in every inch of me, undressing me with his eyes, setting a fire between my legs.

“So uh, where’s breakfast? Are we having a picnic or something?”

He doesn’t answer right away and I look over his shoulder uncomfortable under his heavy stare. When it really starts to feel weird I face him head on and cross my arms over my chest in a fake show of irritation.

“Are you about finished?”

He chews on his lip and slides his hands into his pockets, “No but we can go if you’re hungry.”

I roll my eyes and he chuckles grabbing my hand to lead me across the tarmac. I wish he wouldn’t touch me it’s distracting.

Looking up I notice for the first time a small two-engine plane parked at the end of the runway. I hope he isn’t expecting me to get into that thing I hate flying.

I stop suddenly but he doesn’t release my hand and our arms are drawn taut.

“What’s that?”

He looks at the plane and back at me.

“I thought you went to college.”

“Stop, you know what I mean. We aren’t getting in that tiny thing are we?”

“If you want breakfast we are.”

“I’m not going to be hungry if you make me get on that plane. You may as well save yourself the trouble and the fuel and take me back to town for breakfast.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? Breakfast in Redwater is boring and it will take us twenty minutes to get there and another fifteen to order and get our food. I’m diabetic remember? I have to keep my meals on a schedule.” The corner of his mouth rises in a panty-melting smirk and I begin to follow him again.

What am I doing? I’m scared to death of flying and yet I just let this man bamboozle me into boarding a tiny aircraft.

“Who’s the pilot?” I don’t see anyone else around and as far as I can tell there isn’t anyone in the plane.

“Me of course.”

I stop again yanking on his arm. “You? The diabetic who needs to eat?” I shake my head, “You go ahead and fly yourself to get some breakfast. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“Hush, come on now. I’m an excellent pilot. I’ve logged thousands of hours flying these planes. My dad had me flying by the time I turned thirteen, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Is it even legal to fly when you’re thirteen?”

“Nobody knew, it was a family plane, but I got my license when I was seventeen. I’ve been regularly in the air for eleven years, you’re safe with me.” He drops his chin and narrows his eyes. “You do trust me right?”

I do trust him, I don’t know why, but I do.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

“You have your insulin right?”

He pats his side, “I have a pump.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out. The fact that he has an insulin pump is a relief.

“We good?”

“No, I hate flying but I have my big girl panties on, I can handle it.”

He smiles a mischievous smile and scrunches up his face with doubt. “You sure? Doesn’t look like it to me.”

“Shut up.” I’m wearing a thong. It’s far from big girl panties but now I’m sure he was looking at my ass and that makes me wobbly again.

“Am I going to have to carry you onto the plane Ms. Deardon?”

My stubborn streak decides to make an appearance, thank God; I was starting to wonder where it had gone.

“Absolutely not, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“Spunk, I like that.”

I follow him to the plane where he opens the door for me. I look inside and back at Beau, who is watching me intently. “I’m sitting up here?” I say pointing to the passenger seat next to the pilot’s seat because honestly I don’t see anymore seats. He looks down the length of the plane, “Yeah, unless you want me to tie you to the top.” He shrugs at me like it’s my choice.

I take a step back, “It’s so small.”

“Yep, two seater, let’s go princess this man’s gotta eat.”

Breakfast, oh yeah, he does need to eat. I step forward ready to hoist myself up when I feel his hands around my waist, like the other night when he pulled me from the mud. He lifts me into the seat, as if I’m as light as a feather, and buckles me in so tight I start to worry about his pilot skills again. “You afraid I’ll fall out?”

“No, I’m using this as an excuse to be close to you.” His admission comes with no shame and a smile. Then he closes the door and rounds the plane to take his place in the pilot’s seat. I watch him flip switches and adjust his headset and realize just how much this man enjoys being in control. It’s his thing, like talking to animals is mine.

We all have our strengths and talents. From what I have learned in our small amount of time together Beau’s include being a leader, a rescuer and he enjoys being in control. So far I have benefited from all of the above.

My heart is beating like Polynesian hula drums as I grip the sides of the small seat. I look around for my purse for no other reason than to burn off some nervous energy but I don’t know where he has put it and the plane is now too loud to ask.

We turn to head down the runway, that cuts straight down the center of the West pasture, which if I remember correctly is named King Lear by his Shakespeare loving mother.

There was a rumor that went around school that his mom was a little crazy for naming their pastures after Shakespeare’s most calamitous works. But I heard Beau mention Othello when he took a call from his father the other day and realized the rumor is true.

If I live until breakfast I’ll have to remember to ask him why. I rest my head against the back of the seat and wish I hadn’t had such a large cup of coffee. Now along with my fear of flying I have to pee and I have the jitters, great.

The drums in my chest pick up the pace as the plane shoots down the runway and launches us into the sky. It’s not as bad as I anticipated he’s actually a very good pilot just like he said. The takeoff wasn’t as loud and rattly as I thought it would be and as soon as we hit the air things smooth out and it’s quiet but for the sound of the engines.

I’m staring wide eyed out the passenger window still gripping my seat when I feel his hand on my arm. I turn in time to catch him glancing at me, he’s smiling a told ya so smile and I half roll my eyes and bob my head from left to right admitting he is right.

He laughs, not a chuckle. This was a full on warm-hearted shoulder shaking laugh. If I weren’t falling for him yet, that laugh would have sealed the deal. The glorious sound came from deep in his chest. It was genuine and hearty but more than anything else, it was sexy.

I didn’t know joy could be such an aphrodisiac. The way his full lips stretched over his perfect white teeth and his tanned skin crinkled around his eyes, it gave me brain fog. He even had to bite his lip to stop himself when I imagine he was worrying about my ego.

He didn’t need to worry I would gladly let him take pot shots at me all day, if it meant I could hear that laugh. His light mood lifted my anxiety and I giggled a little myself. He slid his fingers down my arm and pulled my white knuckled hand off the seat cushion to hold it in his.

It’s like he is syphoning all of the anxiety I had about flying from my body and replacing it with excitement. I sit up, his fingers laced with mine, and I look out at the horizon and take in the beauty of Montana from the air. It’s breathtaking, from the sprawling prairies to the white snow tipped mountains it’s like heaven on earth.

“It’s so beautiful.” My voice is airy and full of appreciation for the nature before us.

“Not as beautiful as you.” His words don’t register at first. I’m so enthralled with the scenery it takes me a few seconds to catch up.

“What?” The word shoots from my mouth and I regret it as soon as it’s out there. How dense can you be Charlotte? The man just complimented you, say thank you or blush or something, anything but ask what.

He smiles in amusement and lays my hand in my lap so that he can maneuver the plane to the left, but fully aware that he caught me off guard, he doesn’t repeat the compliment.

“Um, where are we going?”

“Belfair, their French toast is to die for.”

Belfair is a five star hotel in Cascade Montana near the base of the little Wolf Mountains. I’ve heard of it but I never dreamed of going there. It’s a little hoity toity for our family, but then again the Super Eight is hoity toity for the Deardon’s now.

“You can’t have French toast.”

“Okay mom, thanks.” He play punches me in the arm and I realize how stupid that sounded. He’s been diabetic his entire life, I’m sure he knows what he can and can’t eat. “You’re right, I can’t have it but I thought you might like it. I took one bite of my mom’s one time and had to up my insulin dose.”

“I don’t want to tempt you, I can eat something else.”

He is quiet and I look over to see why he isn’t responding. Every muscle in his face is working hard to suppress a smile and his eyes are twinkling. What is wrong with him?

Then I think of my comment and remember how men’s minds work. I reach out and give his shoulder a shove, “You’re terrible.”

His eyes widen and his mouth falls open, “What? I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to, I can see you twisting up my innocent words into something filthy.”

He shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay Mr. Pervy. How long until we get there?”

“Five minutes, give or take a few.”

We’re almost there. I made it. I didn’t die and that’s a good thing because without Beau and I, my family would be lost. I’m anxious to get to the hotel and find out how he plans on dealing with his father. I can’t imagine anything that would make Mack Hill voluntarily help a Deardon, not one single thing.