Chapter Fifteen

Maren

When I started traveling on weekends for tournaments, my parents got me a cell phone reserved strictly for emergencies. Way before the time when every kid over five had one, this was a big deal. Except for family, only one other person had the number. Besides, it’s not like anybody else was going to call me.

So when the phone rang late one night toward the end of my freshman year, I knew who was calling. And more importantly, I was glad it hadn’t woken my parents up otherwise there would’ve been hell to pay that I had given him the number.

“Maren, it’s me. You gotta come get me.”

I bolted upright in bed and immediately checked the cable box. It read a little past midnight.

I was surprised to hear his voice. Except in passing, we hadn’t spoken in months. He’d been doing a great job of avoiding me and I was doing a great job of pretending I didn’t miss him with every piece of my soul.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in jail. D and J are here, too.”

“What?! What happened. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, we just got in a little trouble.”

“What kind’a trouble?”

“Thought it’d be funny to let out Dutton’s bull, let him stretch his legs a bit,” he mumbled, the first time I’d ever heard Noah sound sheepish.

I’d find out later that Dutton owned a prized rodeo bull called Watch Out, and a house party held that night next door to the Dutton ranch gave a couple of drunk idiots the bright idea that Dutton’s bull was, in Noah’s and Dane’s words, “Lonely and needed to get out to meet some lady cows.”

Jermaine was too smart to open his mouth.

“You gotta get me out, Mare.”

“What am I supposed to do? Call your father.”

“Can’t. He’ll kill me.”

“What about Crystal?”

“She can’t. Her daddy will kill her if she sneaks out again.”

I almost hung up on him right there and then.

“I’m fifteen, Noah. How am I supposed to get you out?”

“Can you call Rowdy?”

As soon as we hung up, I called my grandfather and he came right over to get me. By the time my grandfather and I walked into the local police station, he was silently stewing and a silent Rowdy was a scary one.

After he spoke to the deputy, we were led to a small cell where the boys were being held, the three of them seated on a metal bench next to a drunk who was fast asleep and snoring.

Noah was bent over with his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. He looked up and saw me and a huge grin split his face. As bright as a polished penny, his copper-colored eyes flashed with humor.

I did not smile back. Even though my stupid, stupid heart skipped a beat.

He walked over to the bars and grabbed hold of them. “What are you lookin’ at?” he murmured, one corner of his lips lifting in a sexy, crooked smile.

I couldn’t stay mad at him if I tried.

“An idiot,” I told him. Then, glancing at Dane and Jermaine, added, “Or three.”

Thanks to Rowdy, Mr. Dutton, who was a friend of his, decided not to press charges. In exchange, the boys had to work on the ranch for a month shoveling bullshit.

Later, I’d laugh my ass off every time Noah came home smelling rank and looking mad as hell. But that night after they were released, Rowdy made them get in the backseat of his old Chevy Blazer. The three of them as big as buildings all crammed together while I sat upfront was enough to put a smile on my face despite how tired I was.

When we reached my house, Grandpa parked and killed the engine, then he looked in the rearview mirror. We all knew he was steaming. He hadn’t said a word up until then and he didn’t have to; anger was coming off of him in waves.

“You three wanna raise hell go right ahead. Did more than my share when I was your age. But you never mess with another man’s livin’––ever. You boys hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” they answered all at once.

“That bull is worth a hundred grand. Anybody got a hundred grand to give Dutton if his bull had ended up on highway fifty-nine as the hood ornament of a tractor trailer?” A tension-filled ten seconds of silence followed. “Didn’t think so.”

Looking my way, he said, “Night, sweetheart.”

I gave him a quick peck on his bristly cheek. “Night, Grandpa. Thanks again.”

He nodded once. Then he briefly glanced in the back seat with a look of disgust. “Out––you shitheads can walk home. Fresh air’ll do you good.” His fiery blue stare fixed on Jermaine. “Except for you. Your father gets wind I made you walk and he’ll bring hell, fire, and damnation down on my head. I’ll drop you off.”

Tags: P. Dangelico It Takes Two Romance
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