Love Story(68)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“I’m sorry, too,” I said, “so we’re even. I didn’t visit you in the hospital when you got crushed by a horse. For much the same reasons regarding love and rejection and being young.” And being a cold bitch, born and bred, I thought to myself, because he was trying to make a connection with me, and I couldn’t even meet him halfway.

“That went on for six years,” he said. “You didn’t talk to me. I didn’t talk to you. You didn’t talk to your grandmother. And now she’s disinherited you. So in all that time, you never told her how you feel?”

“How do I feel?” I leaned forward, honestly curious about what he would tell me.

“You love horses. You love the farm. But everything about it reminds you of your mother dying and your dad leaving. You never dealt with it back then. You’re trying to deal with it now. You’ve gone far away to a place with no horses and very little grass, and you’re studying how to write a story with a happy ending. If you can write that ending for yourself, maybe you can come back.”

Listening to this was like watching a colorful origami box unfold. Only it was Hunter showing me the contents. That made me very uncomfortable. I sat back and folded my arms across my chest, hugging myself against the cold.

“When I brought you here,” he said, “I thought your grandmother would summon you. She must be waiting for you to come to her instead. Now I see that you and I may fly back to New York tomorrow without either of you giving in.”

“Hm,” I agreed.

“But if you do stumble upon each other and have a talk”—he turned to me and took my hand this time, warming it between both of his—“can’t you please tell her how you feel?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He dropped my hand and slouched against the bench. “I wish you would, because I’m not sure how long I can put up with this.”

“I’ll bet you can put up with it a little longer,” I said brightly, desperate to get out from under the heavy subject. “How much do you love college in New York?”

He grinned. “I love college in New York. I love just being in the city. I love my classes. I love the hospital. I wish I weren’t there at two in the morning because I also love sleep, but I do love the hospital. I love Manohar and Brian. In a manly love kind of way, of course.”

“Of course,” I said, the corners of my mouth stretched tight, trying not to laugh. “You get along great with everybody. Because that’s what you do.”

“Because that’s what I do,” he agreed. “Do you love college in New York?”

I sighed, a big puff of white air. “I do love college in New York. Lately I’ve been so busy with work and homework that I might as well be in Iowa, but I remember loving college in New York a month ago. I’m afraid it may be coming to a close, though.”

He leaned nearer. “Seriously?”

“If I got that internship,” I said, “I could hold on. Otherwise I’m in trouble. I wanted so badly to start my publishing career in the publishing mecca. But maybe that’s not possible for me now. I can write anywhere, I guess.” I laughed.

He didn’t laugh. “What will you do, then?”

“I might try California,” I said. “It’s almost as expensive as New York, though. And it’s tainted in my mind because my mother tried it with the worst of luck.”

Hunter’s movement toward me was so sudden that I instinctively shrank back. Then I realized he was reaching for my hand. He took it in his warm hand again, rubbing my palm with his calloused thumb. His voice was smooth like a song as he said, “I would not love college in New York if you weren’t there.”

Suddenly I was flushing hot in the freezing night. “You wouldn’t?” I whispered.

“No. When I said I love it, I listed all these things I love about it. I left you out.” He let my hand go and touched his finger to my lips. “I love you.”

I stared stupidly at him. Was he joking again, reciting another line from my story? I didn’t remember writing this.

He leaned in and kissed me. I didn’t respond for a few seconds. My mind lagged behind what my body was feeling.

“Say it,” he whispered against my lips. “I know this is hard for you. Tell me.”

“I love you.” Hearing my own words, I gasped at the rush of emotion.

He put his hands on either side of my jaw and took my mouth with his.

My mind still chattered that something was wrong with this picture. My body stopped caring. I grabbed fistfuls of his sweater and pulled him closer.

He moved his lips to my cheek, to my ear, back to my mouth. I had never been kissed like this in my life. Each time I thought I should protest because there were so many unsettled matters between us, Hunter kissed me harder, forcing those concerns out of my mind. The cold air heated up around us.

He unsnapped the top of my jacket and slipped his hand inside. His warm palm cupped my breast beneath my shirt.

Then he straightened, blinking at me, and pulled his hand away.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Okay,” he panted. “I’m going to kick myself for this in the morning, but I don’t want to do this while I’m drunk. And I don’t want to do it behind the stable. I want everything to be perfect between you and me.” He stroked my hair away from my face. “Are you mad?”

“Mad?” I squeaked. “No. Horny? Yes. Frustrated?”

“Yes.” He set his forehead against mine.

“Yes,” I agreed. “Mad? No.”

He watched me with serious eyes. His gaze fell to my chest. He fastened the snaps he’d unfastened a few moments before, then put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m just so thankful we’re finally together.”

“Me, too,” I whispered. I felt uncomfortable saying this. I wished I had a cell phone so I could call Summer for verification that I was not making a terrible mistake. But she would yell at me and tell me to stop being stupid. I did not need her permission to fall in love.

He kissed me on the forehead, then stood, holding out his hand to me. “I’ll walk you home.”

I took his hand and swung it as we rounded the stable again, back the way we’d come. “I’ll walk you home,” I said.

“No,” he said with exaggerated patience, “I’ll walk you home.” With his other hand he gestured toward the top of my grandmother’s mansion, just visible over the rise. “I’m not leaving you wandering around in the night with all these drunk people and, my God, Whitfield Farrell and his f**king bowl.”

I giggled. It made me insanely happy that he was jealous of Whitfield Farrell. “You’re drunk, though. You might stumble into the road and get hit by a car.”

“They will be sorry,” he said. “I will dent their car. I am strong like an ox.”

I burst into laughter, and he laughed with me. He was so handsome in the gentle starlight, and he looked so happy. I couldn’t remember ever being this happy myself. I was still nearly broke and my grandmother hated me and I had a history paper due Monday that I hadn’t started writing, but I could handle all of this with Hunter laughing beside me. I squeezed his warm hand.