Authors: Taryn A. Taylor
Mr. Wrong (16 page)
Beau grimaced.
“I don’t think love is easy. At least, not like the fairytale kind of love they sell to young girls.” He studied her face.
“What is it then?”
“I think it’s passionate and wonderful and hard and crazy worth it.” He held her eyes.
She stood and looked into his eyes, hating the goose bumps that crept onto her arms. Taking the article she turned away from him. “Why do you care, Beau?” She went to her room and placed the article on her desk, shutting the door behind her.
Beau looked at
her for a minute and then whispered, “Can I take you somewhere right now?”
Sara
shook her head. “Beau, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He
stepped forward. “Come on. I know you’re too curious not to come. It’ll get your mind off of everything.” He gestured to the photo album.
Sara
hedged. “I have another lesson with Martha and Larry tomorrow—if you want to come, you’re welcome to.” She didn’t mention that they’d missed him the last two Saturdays.
His voice was soft.
“I’d love to come—I just . . . well, I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t have another partner.”
Sara
paused.
He held his hand out to her, not budging.
“Come on. It’ll be fun.” He winked at her.
S
he was curious. Moaning she turned to her room and said, “Let me change and brush my hair.”
“Don’t worry about the hair. I have an extra helmet on the bike.”
Sara
realized she would be getting on a motorcycle, and a little thrill went through her. She’d grown up riding bikes around the ranch with her brothers. Changing into jeans and putting on some lipstick, she told herself she just liked to look good—in general. It had nothing to do with Beau.
As she walked out,
Beau held a jacket to her. It was Genova’s brown, leather jacket.
“That’s not mine.”
Sara went for the closet.
“
Genova won’t care, will she?” Beau eyed her face. “I like the lipstick. It’s a good, strong color for you.”
She felt herself blush and took the jacket to hang back in the closet.
“Thanks.”
Beau put a hand on her arm.
“Leather cuts the wind. Put on a sweatshirt too.”
Sara
hesitated and then took a UW brown and gold sweatshirt from the closet.
Beau shook his head.
“It’s amazing that even those colors look good on you.”
Sara
shook her head, hating that she liked Beau’s compliments. She scrawled a note to Genova and turned for the door.
The red street bike glistened under the street lamp.
It seemed extremely quiet out tonight. The road was wet from a light snow earlier in the day.
Beau pulled out the other helmet and handed it to her.
“Have you ever ridden?” Sara smiled arrogantly. “You’re talking to a cowgirl, of course I’ve ridden.”
“Right.”
He put his helmet on, clicking the front plastic into place.
Putting her arms around his waist was nerve
-racking. Closing her eyes she tried not to think about the smell of leather and how she could feel his whole body moving as he balanced the bike and pushed the kickstand up. Deciding she shouldn’t be so close to him, she tried to get a grip on the leather of his jacket in her hands.
Beau laughed
, and she felt her stomach jump as they pulled away from the curb. She pinched his side. “What?”
He eased onto the street and turned his head at the stop sign and opened the front of the helmet.
“You’re gonna have to hold on tighter than that.” He snapped it shut and took off with a jolt.
Sara
laughed, snuggling into his back and tightening her grip around his middle. Beau rode through Main Street and then headed out of town on the freeway, toward Cheyenne. When she saw the sign, she realized she probably should have asked where, exactly, they were going, but it felt like for the first time since the funeral she was able to relax a little bit. Feeling him underneath her arms made her feel secure.
Her thoughts turned to meeting him for the first time in Salt Lake.
She reflected on how different his life had been then—after his wife had recently passed. And how different hers had been—the girl that had just sent a missionary off. She couldn’t believe that Jonathon was home—and she could be marrying him at some point. Guilt started to creep into her heart, because she liked the way Beau felt against her.
Beau
turned off of the interstate about five minutes away from town and started up a mountain. The trees started to thicken, and the air felt cooler. Her legs began to smart against the cold, but it all seemed so beautiful in the moonlight. They rode another ten minutes, and Beau pulled off onto a dirt road, passing a mailbox. The road curved higher until the trees seemed to clear, and Sara could make out, what appeared to be, a newer cabin. The lights were on, and she heard music coming softly from the windows.
He stopped the bike and took his helmet off.
“Welcome to my home.”
Sara
felt weird. He seemed so much older than her at this moment. She turned to him and smiled. “Is this where you kill me and bury my bones on your mountain. I assume it’s yours too.” She got off the bike gingerly, handing him the helmet.
He pushed a button in his pocket
and the garage opened. He smiled wickedly and rolled the bike into the garage. “You left a note, remember? I need to get you alone with no one around.”
“Yeah.
Then I really wouldn’t finish my degree.” She muttered it under her breath and felt a little angry at Jonathon.
Beau scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
Sara
rolled her eyes. “Nothing.”
He hesitated
. “We’ll talk about that later. First, I want you to meet someone.”
Sara
hadn’t been expecting this. “Okay.” She followed him up the steps. The warmth of the house assaulted her, making her nose run a little from the contrast of the cold.
An older lady sat in a chair by a fire reading.
She looked up and smiled, pulling her glasses off of her face. She looked at Beau. “My goodness, I do think she’s as pretty as you’ve said.”
Beau cleared his throat.
“Mom, this is Sara. Sara, this is my mom, Ellen.”
Ellen put out her hand and
Sara shook it, noticing how fragile it felt in her hand. “Nice to meet you.” She didn’t know what to say. “What are you reading?”
“Oh,” Ellen said, putting her hand gently on top of a well-worn book.
“Just one of the classics—
Pride and Prejudice
.”
Sara
smiled. “I love that one, but I just have the hardest time with Elizabeth.”
Ellen
laughed a little. “Really, why?”
Sara
sat down next to her. “It just seems like she takes so long to really be able to see Darcy for who he is. I mean, I get that they have some misunderstandings—but why don’t they just talk? It takes forever for them to get together. Then he has to write her that whole letter explaining it all. Come on—just talk.”
Ellen fluffed her short hair and pulled her
glasses off. “Ya see, I like the fact it takes a while to unravel. I like the mystery and journey of it all. It’s a lot like a new relationship—don’t you think?” Ellen glanced from Beau to her.
Sara
wondered how this conversation had suddenly become about her and Beau. She shook her head. “I guess.”
Ellen laughed, her eyes shining and stood.
She reached out for Beau. “Well, I better head home, Beau. Sara, really it was so nice to finally meet you. You should join us for Thanksgiving if you don’t have plans. I’m a great cook.”
Sara
smiled, seeing where Beau got his personality from. “It was nice meeting you too.”
Beau stepped to Ellen, helping her gently get into her coat and
kissing her cheek. “Love you, Mom. See ya tomorrow.” He walked to the porch and watched her get into her white car and back out.
Sara
stood marveling at the amount of floor to ceiling windows in this room. “Wow. You’ve got quite the view here.” The moon was bright, and she saw trees and the reflection of lake water. “I didn’t know there was a lake up here.”
Beau stepped to her side and
tentatively ran his fingers over her hand.
Sara
closed her eyes, hating the way she loved the feel of his hand. “Beau—.”
“Just don’t say anything,
Sara.”
Sara
looked at him. It dawned on her that he didn’t get it. And, how could he? She should be at her apartment talking to Jonathon on Skype or something. Not gallivanting on a motorcycle all over the forest and now standing in his ultra decked-out cabin.
“
I’m marrying him, that’s just the way it is.” It was the first time she’d ever said it out loud.
Beau nodded and before
Sara realized what had happened, his lips touched hers. Fire burned where he kissed her. He pulled back but kept his face close. “I don’t suppose you would want to be kissing friends?”
Sara
touched her mouth, slightly embarrassed.
Pulling her to him, he
kissed her again. Sara felt herself give into him. Her whole body reached back to him. Sara tried to pretend this didn’t mean anything. She thought of the fact that she technically wasn’t engaged yet and that Jonathon had wanted her to date lots of guys . . . even though—technically—he was back now. Did that still count? She couldn’t lie to herself; she’d been thinking about that night in the grove and the way he smelled and how he smiled kind of to the side when he thought something was very amusing.
“Beau!”
She forced herself away from him, sucking in a breath.
“You
kissed me back.” His voice was soft, and he tried to pull her back to him.
Sara
frowned. “I thought you said you couldn’t marry me anyways.”
He sighed and let go of her. “You’re right. I should just take you home. But—I can’t.” He went to the stair rail and banged his hand against it sharply. “I shouldn’t be thinking about you day and night and wondering if you’re going to show up in class with a piece of glass on your finger.” He put his hand in his hair and ruffled it up in frustration. “But I do.” He searched her face.
Sara
stood her ground, not moving.
Beau looked her up and down.
“It is easy between us . . . and you feel it.” It was more of an accusation than a statement. He was referring to her Beatrice article.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
“Here, come outside, this is what I wanted to show you.” Abruptly he pulled her with him.
Sara
followed him in confusion. “So we’re clear.”
Beau sat on a bench and patted the space next
to him, and his eyes looked warm, reflecting the fire on the porch. “Oh, yeah. We’re clear.” He smiled. “What were we talking about?”
Sara
inhaled deeply. The mountain air was tinged with the smell of campfire. It reminded her of roasting smores. “I haven’t officially told him yet, but I am marrying Jonathon.” She tried to sound convincing and collapsed into the chair. “Gosh, I feel like I have a double personality when I’m with you or something.”
Pulling her closer against his side
, he ran his hand down her ponytail, studying her hair for a few seconds in thought. “You’re not schizophrenic; you just have feelings for me . . . and Jonathon.” He said the last word with distaste.
“Beau,” she said it like a mother says their son’s name when they want to make sure that the naughty behavior would not be continued.
“I can only be friends with you.”
Beau nodded and looked serious.
“Okay. I can be a friend to you.” He turned to the outdoor stove and put his hands up to absorb the heat.
Sara
mimicked him, putting her hands up to the warmth too. “It is cozy, isn’t it?” Sara reflected that no one in Wyoming was sitting on a deck this time of year.
She pointed her finger at him in emphasis.
“And you won’t constantly fight with me, and you won’t try to kiss me again?”
“I
can be your friend.” His eyes were serious. “If that’s what you want, I can be that.” He quickly kissed her again.
She started to pull away a
nd his arm tightened against her. He laughed under his breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Beau
—” She shook her head. “On second thought, I don’t think we can be friends.”
His eyes danced in the moonlight.
“Sara, don’t you realize that we could be good together?” He turned so he was face-to-face with her. He had the look of a tortured man across his face. “I know you don’t realize it yet, how could you?” He pulled his arms from around her and stood up. “All you see is him and what you think of as him.”
She
stood too. “And don’t do that. It’s like you’re putting doubts in my head. It’s real between Jonathon and me. I know it.” She almost stomped her foot like a two year old.
“Okay.”
He put his arms up in surrender. “I will be a perfect gentleman. And I will be your friend. I can’t guarantee that I won’t argue with you.” He pointed his finger at her. “That just seems to be how we get along.”
Sara
glared at him. Beau seemed different to her since the night of her dad’s funeral, softer.
“But I do have to tell you
that you will realize you’re not ready to marry him.”
Sara
felt sad. “Beau, don’t be my friend if you’re hoping I’ll change my mind.”
Beau settled bac
k in the seat and sighed. “I’m not hoping. I can’t marry you anyway.” His eyes seemed to pierce into her heart.
Sara
ignored his last comment. “How do you know he doesn’t make me happy?”
Beau held her gaze for a moment.
“Okay, does he?”
Sara
glared at him. “Yes.” She knew that wasn’t the complete truth, at least not yet. She felt like she didn’t know him quite yet.
“Hmm.
And what was your comment about not being able to finish your degree?”
Sara
looked at her hands in her lap.
“
He probably wants to move back home when he’s done with school and live next to his parents.”
Sara
didn’t say anything, then laughed. “You live next to your mother.”
Beau frowned.
“It’s different.”
Sara
giggled. “It’s exactly the same.”
Biting into his lip he stood up.
“I don’t know much about him, but he probably doesn’t realize that you want to do so many things with your life. That you are smart and beautiful and want to save the world; does he know that?”
Turning back to her, the moonlight hit his features and made his whole face look more chiseled and hard.
“Sara, do you have a five-year plan—together? Or are you fitting into his five-year plan?”
Sara
tried not to look miserable. “Every marriage requires sacrifice.”
“
Sara,” he looked in her eyes. “Does he realize you don’t just want to live in someone’s shadow?”
Sh
e didn’t know why she suddenly wanted to cry. “Take me home, Beau.” It was a whisper, but it was insistent. “I can’t do this. I didn’t plan for this. Everything’s changing so quickly.” She felt lost.
“
Sara.” He was beside her. “I’m sorry. I’ll take you back home, let’s take the truck.”
They drove in silence.
Sara didn’t know what she could say—she didn’t know what she wanted to say.
Her phone rang as they pulled in front of her apartment.
“Martha?”
“I didn’t know who else to call
; they’re taking him to the hospital.”
“What?
Martha—what is happening?” Fear gripped her chest and she put a hand on Beau’s arm.
“I need to go with him,
Sara.” Martha’s voice broke off into a sob.
“I’m with Beau, we’ll come get you.”
Beau turned the truck around and began speeding down the street toward the Ivinson Home. “What happened?” He turned the radio off and kept his eyes on the road.
Panic surfaced in her chest.
“I don’t know. Go faster.”
Beau looked at her sharply.
He took her hand. “It’ll be okay. It’s okay.”
Sara
took a deep breath. “You’re right.”
Martha was standing in front of the
Ivinson home. Beau got out to help her into the truck.
“I’m sorry, kids.”
Her hair was matted, and Sara noticed her normally done up face had no makeup. “I didn’t know who else to call?”
“You’re fine.”
Sara linked her arm with Martha’s. “What happened?”
“We were in his room watching one of our shows, and I looked over and he was clutching his hand to his chest with a really weird expression on his face. I asked him if he was all right and he nodded, but—when he didn’t move—I called 911. They said he’s had a heart attack.” Martha gripped the side of the truck door and closed her eyes. “He can’t die.”
Sara
gave Beau a worried look and squeezed Martha to her. “It’ll be all right.” Thoughts of her dad came rushing in and she pushed them away. Now was not the time to have a breakdown about her dad.
At
the hospital they waited for a few hours until the doctors finally came out to talk to them.
“Are you family?”
He looked at Martha.
Martha didn’t hesitate.
“Well—I’m his fiancé.” She averted her eyes to Sara and Beau and then back to the doctor. “His son is coming from Denver right now. I called him. That’s all Larry has left in the world. Well,” she said, breaking off into tears. “And me. I sure love that man.”
Sara
’s heart warmed.
The doctor nodded.
“He’s all right, Mam. He just suffered a mild heart attack.”
Martha leaned into
Sara with relief.
“
I think he wants to see you—are you Martha?”
“Can we go in too?”
Sara helped straighten Martha up.
The doctor smiled.
“I think that would be all right. But not for very long.”
Before they walked into his room, Martha turned to them, whispering, “I just had to see him—we’re not engaged, okay.”
Sara nodded and pretended to lock up her lips.
When they
walked into Larry’s room, Sara clutched Beau’s arm, having memories of her father assault her. Beau stepped closer and supported her.
“He’s fine.”
Beau whispered in her ear.
Sara
was surprised at how Martha pulled herself together so well and seemed to dance to Larry’s bedside. “Darling, we were so worried about you.” She took his hand, and he tried to smile.
“I guess the old ticker isn’t ready to give out yet.”
Larry covered his hand with hers, and Sara noticed that the look Martha was giving Larry finally seemed to match the way he always looked at her.
Sara
went to his bed and took his other hand. “You okay?” She couldn’t stop her tears.
Larry’s smile was soft.
“I’m okay, sweet darling. But maybe we’ll have to hold up on the dance lessons for a while.”
Sara
laughed and wiped her tears.
Larry’s voice
was raspy and his green eyes watery. “Can I have a blessing, Sara.”
Sara
couldn’t believe what he’d just asked for. She didn’t know he was a member of the church. “What Larry?”
His freckled hand rubbed across his forehead.
Turning to her, he smiled. “Heck, call up old Bishop Archibald. He’s my home teacher.”
An hour later,
Bishop Archibald and another man showed up, leaving their hats on the chair next to the door. Archibald was dressed in a white shirt and tie. Lightly he put his hand on Larry’s arm. “Brother Garrison, so glad you called.” He turned and raised his eyebrows. “Sara, Beau.” He smiled warmly. He stretched his hand to Martha. “I’m Bishop Archibald.” He gestured to the other man Sara didn’t recognize. “This is my son, Kevin.”
Martha smiled and was kind, but her eyes were hesitant.
“Thanks for coming.”
He turned to Larry.
“Now what’s happened?”