Page 7 of For Fillies and Monsters

Better get this over with.

Butterflies erupt in my stomach as I step into the restaurant, my face assaulted with a blast of cold air and the smell of grease.

The room is packed, and every head turns to look at me as if on cue. Wrinkled faces and cloudy judgment-filled eyes rake over my skin like hot coals, and I fidget with the hem of my shirt. As usual, muttering quickly fills the space.

A woman in a fraying brown booth is eyeing me outraged, her manicured hand slapping the man leaning over the edge of the booth to look me over too. A bearded man, well into his sixties with gravy clinging to the gray hairs around his mouth, looks at me with part disgust and part desire.

They all make me want to scream.

I don’t even know what my friend looks like anymore. I stand, frozen to the spot, and contemplate bolting out.

Will she even care if I bail?

As soon as the thought takes a solid hold in my mind, my feet already lifting to attempt a sprint, a deeply tan-skinned woman peeks her head over the top of the booth. Her hair glitters like a black lake in the fluorescent lights, and her brown eyes are rounded like saucers. She raises her hand, waving above the top of the booth, and I take a single grudging step toward her.

She can’t even be bothered to stand up?

I step closer and inhale sharply, biting my tongue.

She is standing.

She just happens to be barely above five feet tall, her black hair swaying in a braid that playfully slaps the back of her knees. Her brown eyes crinkle at the corners as I step up to the booth, and her plum painted lips pull back in a dazzling smile.

She scoots toward me, her small hands grabbing mine in a warm but iron grip.

“Stetson! I barely recognized you! Still turning heads.” She winks, her joke at the not-so-pleasant entry easing my nerves just a fraction, and pulls me to her with surprising strength.With her face resting between my B-cups and her arms around my plump waist, she giggles.

“Dale,” I whisper and hug her back tightly. I don’t even remember the last time I hugged someone, and it’s better than any drug I can think of—this warm acceptance.

“Oh my gosh, sit! The old bitty’s over there are about to fall out of their chairs.” She shoots a vicious look around my elbow, and I hear the scooting of a chair as someone coughs. I gingerly sit in the brown leather booth, squeaking as it molds to my weight. Dale sits with a huff, her frown quickly lifting in another beaming smile.

“You look… so grown up,” I state, not sure what else to say. Dale laughs, a throaty sound, and I can’t help but smile in response.

“It’s been ten years. I didn’t get any taller, but I did finally grow these.” She points at her large breasts pressing against her black lacy top. “The boys love them, just like you warned me they would.” She giggles again, picking up the menu.

Ten years—the reality of just how long I’ve been gone hits me like a physical blow. I didn’t mean to cut her out, but it had been what I had to do to survive. I don’t regret protecting her and myself, but will she forgive me for it?

“How’s ranching life? I can’t believe this is the first time I have seen you since you’ve been back! You’re the talk of the town; nothing interesting ever happens around here.” Another huff sounds behind me at Dale’s words, but I don’t dare turn around.

“Ranching.”Where to begin?“It’s going good.”

Dale sets her menu down and looks me dead in the eye.“Don’t lie. I could always tell.”

I sag, relief at being caught in my normal lie like a weight lifting from my chest. There’s no judgment on her face, so I restart. “It sucks.”

Dale nods, but remains silent, her eyes soft, waiting for me to continue. I shift nervously in the booth, the plastic squeaking again. Being with her here, now, feels both like no time has passed and a lifetime has passed.

Where do I start? How do I begin?

“My, um, parents—” The words taste bitter in my mouth, but I push through. “They left it in a wreck. There’s more bad fence than good, the grass in the pastures all the cows are in is nearly mowed over, the barn is a hazard to even walk next to, and there’s only one lonely horse—the gelding I brought with me.” The last words came out as a whisper.

I miss being surrounded by horses.

“Do you need help?” Dale asks, her tone sounding genuine.

I shake my head, and then think better of it and nod. I should be begging for her help, not pretending I don’t need it.

“I’ll come over this weekend. I’m not the biggest person,” she states, “but I know a thing or two. I’m more than happy to help you.” She reaches across the table, a silver bracelet dragging over the wood, and grabs my hand. “I want to see you succeed. I always have, Stet.”

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