Serenity Falls(11)

“Let’s just say that when I was here last, which was three summers ago, she stayed glued to my hip. I didn’t want to be rude, but after a while, it became annoying.” He pauses for a second. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry again.” Wes plays my own game of changing the subject against me.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out my cell phone to check the time. I can’t believe that we’ve been out here for three hours already. Slipping my phone back in place, I answer, “Yeah we should probably get back in the house. I’m sure your momma is gonna want some help cookin’ dinner.”

I walk over to the cabinet where the brushes are and replace the one that I used on Lucy. Next, I hang the bridle on the corner of the cabinet. I reach my hand into another satchel filled with oats. Turning back to Lucy, I walk up to her, holding out the oats in my outstretched hand. As she bends down to eat them, I give her a pep talk. “So, tomorrow, Lucy, we’re gonna work on putting the saddle on ya. So, don’t give me a hard time. Okay, girl?” I rub her forehead once more before walking out of the stall to see Wes waiting patiently for me.

“Thanks,” I say as he closes the stall door behind me.

As the warm summer wind blows, I sweep my hair to one side so the air can cool my neck while we walk toward the house. “How long are you here for?” I ask.

“The summer. I told Mom and Dad that I’d stay. When they said that we didn’t see each other often enough, I realized they were right.”

I inhale deep breaths when I realize how close he’s walking next to me. Close enough for me to smell his cologne, but not close enough that he touches me.

“Do you come home at all?” Although I haven’t been home since Christmas, I couldn’t fathom not going home at all.

“Yeah, but it’s normally only for a week here and there.”

“Well, I know they’re glad you’re here,” I say, playfully nudging his arm with my elbow.

“Me, too.” The husky tone, mixed with the way he’s looking at me, makes my heart beat faster. All of a sudden, the easy, playful banter is gone and replaced with something else. Something I can’t quite make out. I look up at him. My breath catches when I realize our faces are mere inches away from each other. With his face so close to mine, I take a couple of quick steps back to put some distance between us.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… You know… How close…” I stop talking. The recognizable heat from my blush creeps up from my neck to my face, making me feel like a blubbering idiot.

“It’s okay, but you should know we have all summer,” he replies, looking me in the eye.

“What?” I ask, with a nervous chuckle, tearing my eyes away from his.

“Let’s just say, Kenleigh, that I’ve heard a lot about you, and now that I’ve met you, I intend to get to know you,” he answers before he turns away from me, leaving me out on the front porch looking utterly dumbfounded.

He’s heard a lot about me. What the hell does that mean? Out of nowhere, it hits me. Sandy. I wasn’t imagining things when I saw that look on her face earlier. Seems like she’s been planning this for a while. Well, Sandy, you may get your wish, because I like what I see, too.





I check myself over one last time in the full-length mirror in my room. Wes asked me to be ready by eight thirty. I’ve tried really hard to forget his comment outside, but it’s hopeless. All I can think about is how close those plump, kissable lips were to mine. I’d kissed Jarred a lot, but never before have I wanted so badly for someone to kiss me. I’m in uncharted territories here. All my life, I’ve prided myself for not being ‘that girl’, you know the one who throws herself at any guys feet, but I can’t deny the attraction I have toward Wes either.

My cream-colored, strapless, lace dress rests right above my knees, making my deep tan seem darker. The long, brown hair I inherited from my mother hangs loosely down my back, meeting the top of my dress. Black eyeliner and mascara make my bright, blue eyes identical to my father’s pop. Rummaging through my bag, I pull out dark brown leather boots that I’ve worn more times than I count. When I slip them on, I find the comfort that my feet have cried for all day. After driving in flip-flops, and then hanging out with Wes in the barn for three hours, my feet have been dying for some cushion.

I stand and smooth my dress down one more time as a knock sounds on my door. “Hang on,” I say to the person on the other side of it.

After grabbing my clutch off the nightstand, I open the door and gasp. Well, hello, Mr. Wesley Adams. My eyes slowly travel up the dark denim jeans that hug his powerful thighs in all the right places. A black, button-up shirt hangs open, revealing a grey undershirt that strains against his taut chest. The sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, expose roped muscles that travel the lengths of his forearms. His blond hair has that I-can’t-resist-you look. You know the look; the one where it seems that he’s run his fingers through it, which makes me want to do the same. His eyes, the gorgeous, Caribbean blue that I first found stunning, now radiate something else entirely. I know I should say something, but I’m speechless.