Whiskey Lullaby(24)

“Put some baby powder on your windshield”—I mimicked dusting powder on my hand—“and sit in the middle of the bridge…”

“What? So you can fall right through the bridge and into the river? That sounds like a great idea!”

“No, you wait until the little baby footprints show up on the glass.”

I could feel her staring at me, so I turned to look at her. There was the most unamused look on her face. “That is the most unoriginal story I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true.”

She laughed. “It’s a load of crap.”

“Sure hope the ghost didn’t hear you say that…” The tires bumped over the end of the bridge and I turned into an open space. “You know, it’s not fun if you don’t get a little freaked out.”

“Well, you have to try a little harder, you know, since I’m not twelve.”

“Okay, okay.” I laughed and drove into the middle of the old pasture that backed up to Old Man’s property. I put the truck in park before I threw the door open.

She hopped out and followed me around to the back of the truck. I lowered the tailgate, jumped into the bed, and grabbed an old ski rope from the toolbox, then dragged Benji’s patio table to the edge of the tailgate.

“What is that for?” she asked, pointing at the table.

“It’s our sled.”

“Uh-huh.” She fought a smile. “I see.”

“This is how you do Redneck Sledding.” I flipped the table over before tying the ski rope to the trailer hitch and tugging to make sure it was secure. With a grin, I stepped into the middle of the table and grabbed the ski rope handle. “Glides over grass like a dream.” I winked. It may have sounded stupid, but I didn’t care. Right then all I cared about was that she was smiling and distracted.

“Let me guess, you brought me along so you have immediate medical care when you break something, right?”

I know the smirk that worked its way over my lips just then must have been arrogant. “Nah, you’re going first.”

“Yeah, no.”

“Ladies first.”

“That’s alright.”

I dropped the rope and stepped toward her, trapping her between me and the tailgate. “Ah, so now you’re scared, huh?” I pushed a piece of hair away from her cheek.

“No.”

“It’s alright.” I leaned in close to her lips. “You’re kinda cute when you’re scared.”

“You better not get me arrested for trespassing.”

“What kinda guy do you take me for?”

“One that borrows boats…”

“Touché. But, you don’t have nothing to worry about, it’s my landlord’s land. And he’s half batshit crazy.”

Her eyes crinkled. “So, are you gonna show me your house?”

I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to tell her no. “Maybe, if you get on the sled.”

“It’s not a sled.” Rolling her eyes, she stepped around me, grabbed the rope, and plopped down, right in the middle of the upside-down table. “Are you gonna pull me or what?”

“Just let go of the rope if it’s too fast,” I said, walking to the driver’s side.

“Okay, how about you not go too fast.”

“Well, my idea and your idea of fast is probably a little different.”

“Noah!”

Laughing, I climbed inside and revved the engine. In the side mirror, I could see her shaking her head and gripping the ski rope so tight I bet her knuckles were white. “Ready?” I called out the window.

“I guess so.” She sighed. “Just don’t flip me over.”

“Aw, now, whether you flip over or not is up to you, dear…” I cranked the radio up, letting “Country Girl” echo out into the night before I pressed my foot on the gas. The rope caught, slowly dragging her behind the truck. When I saw her grinning, I picked up speed until I was doing about twenty miles per hour across the field. I turned, and the table slung out to the side. I could hear her squeal over the radio.

That night, all that mattered to me was her and that smile.





23





Hannah





The wind whipped through my hair, the smell of exhaust and freshly cut grass swirled around me when Noah took a sharp turn. He kept driving me in circles until I was dizzy, laughing and screaming like a kid.

When the truck came to a stop, he opened his door. I tossed the rope down and hopped up, staggering a few steps as my equilibrium leveled out.

“Now you’ve been Redneck Sledding.” His hands landed on my hips and he yanked me to him, placing a soft kiss on my lips.

Rubbing my lips together, I pulled away a little. “So, now you can take me to your house.”

He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck before picking up the rope and winding it around his forearm. “There’s not much to see.”

“I don’t care.”

With a sigh, he chucked the rope over the tailgate, followed by the table.

“Please?”

“Come on, but if Old Man’s outside—”

“Old Man?”

“Yeah, I don’t know his real name. That’s what everyone calls him, and he’s a pervert, so just don’t make eye contact with him.”

“Okay.”

We climbed into his truck and took off through the pasture, barreling over a creek. Everything inside of the cab jostled around.

“You don’t believe in roads, do you?”

“I got a truck, who needs a road.”

The pasture dumped out onto a dirt road and just as soon as we turned onto it, Noah took a hard left onto a gravel drive. A goat skipped in front of the truck, stopping and staring at the headlights. Noah honked the horn, waving his arm out the window. “Go on, Marvin!”

On one side of the long drive sat a shotgun house, the yard littered with tires and metal barrels, and then we pulled up in front of a small house with white siding and forest green shutters. The engine cut off and Noah sighed. “Yep, he’s out there. He’s got a mouth on him, alright. He’s just old…”

“It’s fine.” I laughed.

As soon as he opened his door, a deep chuckle came from across the yard. When I stepped out and shut my door, I noticed an old man push up from a lawn chair and shuffle toward the chain-link fence. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” he said before turning up a beer can. “You gots you a lady friend, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah, Old Man.” Noah rounded the car, placed his hand on the small of my back and moved me toward the front porch.

“If I can give ya some advice.”

“I’d rather you not,” Noah mumbled.

“I been with my fair share of ladies, and they like it when you fiddle with their clit, you know play fiddlesticks with good ole’ Satan’s doorbell.”

Covering my mouth, I choked on a laugh as we climbed the few steps to the door. Noah rammed the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

“Alright, Old Man, thanks for the advice.” Noah practically shoved me inside the dark house.

“Ya get the deepest when you do ‘em from behind like a poodle in heat and then you—”

Bam. Noah slammed the door shut and flipped the light switch. “Fuck me, I told you.”

I burst out in laughter. “He’s kinda funny.”

“He’s kinda something alright.” He crossed the small room, snatching up a beer can and an empty bag of Cheetos. The inside of his house was bare, all that was in the living room was a floral couch and wooden side table, and a guitar propped in the corner. I could tell he was embarrassed by the way he was walking around trying to tidy a room that didn’t need tidying because that’s what Momma always did when she was nervous or embarrassed. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“I think it’s great.”

He gave me a smug nod. I crossed the room and picked up his guitar, then sat on the edge of the couch and strummed my fingers over the tight strings. “You know, I wanted to take guitar lessons, but I did the piano instead.”

“God, I’d love to play the piano.” He sat down, stretching one arm across the back of the couch and flipping the tips of my hair with his hand.

“They say if you learn one instrument it’s not hard to pick up on others…” I plucked a few notes.

“Well, I never learned the guitar.”

“What?”

“I taught myself, so I can’t read music.”

“How in the world did you teach yourself?” I thought about how he played on the stage with such ease like it was second-nature. I figured someone who played like that had taken years of lessons.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I just… listened to the songs I like. Really listened and picked out the notes.”

“Wow, that’s impressive.” I shoved the guitar into his lap. “Play something.”

“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” He grinned as he sat up and adjusted the guitar in his lap. “What do you want me to play?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

“Oh, come on now, you can’t do that to me.”

“Fine,” I said. “Your favorite song. Sing me your favorite song.”

“So now I’m singing too?”

“Yep.” I straightened up, tilting my head as I grinned at him. “It’s your fault for having a pretty voice.”