Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

Chapter 7Zeke

I will not think about the way she felt pressed against me.

I will not think about the scent of her hair or the way I enjoyed it slapping me in the face.

I will not think about her the way I do when I’m alone in my bed at night.

I just won’t.

Nothing good will come of me imagining how she would’ve responded if I had let my hand sink a few inches lower on her stomach.

Nothing good will come of my thinking about how soft I know her skin is if my fingers had teased below the hem of her tank top.

Nothing good will come of letting go of the hatred I feel for Frances Young.

She’ll be gone in a matter of months, and I’ll still be here, working cattle that will never be mine on land that’s on borrowed time.

I don’t have to look behind me to know that she followed me away from the barn. Her four-wheeler is a distant roar, gradually closing the distance between us. I let up on the throttle, slowing to give her time to catch up. Once she’s beside me, I do my best not to allow my face to mirror the broad smile on hers. She’s having a good time, and as if her beauty is sanctioned by God himself, her dark brown hair, having escaped the confines of her shirt, now flows around her as her gray eyes light with happiness.

Getting behind her moments ago was an excuse to touch her, but more so, it was a way to calm her fears. Frankie doesn’t disclose much to me. Why should she? I’ve been nothing but nice to her face and mean when Mrs. Jacobson isn’t watching. She’s perfected the routine as much as I have over the last couple of weeks, but what this pretty girl doesn’t know is the man smiling to her face at the supper table is closer to who I really am than the jerk telling her lies when she walks me outside at night.

But it was the unfiltered fear in her eyes at the prospect of climbing on the four-wheeler that struck a chord deep inside of me. She was truly afraid she was going to die, and after having listened to Mrs. Jacobson talk about how her friend back home was recently in a bad car accident, I couldn’t just taunt her and call her a baby for not immediately jumping on the machine and soaring away.

Plus, I wanted to feel her against me. I’ve wanted her touch since the first time I saw her standing in her grandmother’s kitchen. I wanted to plug in the holes in my imagination of what her body against mine would be like, experience her heat unguarded. It was nothing short of a religious experience for me and telling by the hitch in her breath and the sight of her pulse pounding in her throat, she wasn’t unaffected either.

Land burdened by the weight of several hundred head of cattle cause us to bump and bounce on our respective machines, and when her eyes widen, I slow down, giving her permission to do the same. No doubt she would’ve continued at the same speed if I hadn’t. She’s facing every challenge I shoot her way, but putting her in danger is different from watching her eyes glass over with indifference when I pull her close for her nan’s sake at night after our evening meal.

Her nan’s sake.

What a damn joke.

I want her against me as much as I want to shove her away. I’ve got split personalities where this chick is concerned, and I don’t know what to do with the warring feelings I battle with every damn day.

Work easily makes its way to the back burner as we sail across the land, kicking up mud and over-grazed soil as we make it to the once rolling river on the back of the property. The creek used to flow steadily, gurgling and overrunning its banks, but even the rain shower we were blessed with yesterday was only enough to make it trickle.

Cows watch us lazily, periodically lifting their heads from grazing as we ride past. Frankie slows even more as she nears the beasts, watching them with newborn fondness as we near the stream.

Her cheeks are kissed by the sun, red from laughing at her first real experience away from the city. She slows to a crawl as her eyes take everything in, and I wonder how she sees what’s surrounding her.

Does she notice how brown the grass is? Does she understand that this field should be green on the tail end of spring? Does she realize that we’ve been having to supplement the cattle’s diet because the land can no longer provide what they need?

Probably not. She doesn’t know a thing about cattle or ranches or what it’s like to have her dreams crushed long before she even graduates high school. She’ll never understand disappointment. Her perfect life won’t allow for that. She’ll have everything handed to her without the aches of hard work just like she’s always had.