Page 22 of Grit
She smiled. “See? You should never bet against me.”
“I don’t. Not anymore.” He leaned closer, intruding on her space. “We gonna talk about us?”
Her smile fell. “There isn’t an us, Cary. We’re friends.”
“Really? ’Cause you’re the only one of my friends I want to kiss.” Tension hummed in the air between them. Cary felt it, like a shock wire running from her mouth to his. “We’re more than friends, Missy. I don’t know what we are yet, and neither do you. But we’re more than friends.”
She put her truck in gear. “I need to go.”
“Running away again?” He stepped back. “Eventually I’m gonna keep you in one place long enough that you’ll be forced to have a conversation.”
Melissa opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. She shook her head slightly and rolled up her window. Then she lifted her hand in a slight wave before she drove away.
Chapter Five
Melissa woketo the sound of chickens clucking underneath her window. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound. It was soothing. The chickens clucking meant that someone had already gone out to feed them, which meant Melissa didn’t have to do it.
She glanced at the clock and her eyes went wide. Seven forty-five? She bolted up to sitting and ran a hand over her eyes. She’d stayed up way too late the night before. She had to stop reading before bed; it was a recipe for disaster.
She threw a vest over her pajamas and stumbled toward the door. “Abby?”
“Yeah?”
Melissa walked down the hall and saw Abby sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal and reading a book.
“Whoa.” Her daughter’s eyes went wide. “Uh, are you driving me to school?”
“Yes.” She walked to the coffeepot, which was still half-full. “I am.” She grabbed a travel mug and poured herself a full cup. “Give me five minutes.”
“Okay.” She stood up. “Should I warm up the truck?”
“Sure.” It was one of the things Abby had started asking when she turned nine, and Melissa let her every now and then. “Five minutes.”
“Okay!”
Melissa left the coffee to start cooling on the counter and hustled back to her room at the end of the hall. She threw on a pair of jeans, a tank top, and put her vest back on. Then she tied her hair back in a quick braid, slid her socks on, and walked to the kitchen door.
“Mom?”
“Are you up?” Joan was in the sitting room. “I thought I was going to have to drive her.”
“I’ve got her.” She searched desperately for her keys. They weren’t on the hook by the door. “Why did you let me sleep so late?”
“I stopped being your alarm clock when you hit thirteen, Melissa Oxford. I’m not going to start that up again.”
Abby had the keys! Melissa slammed her feet into her boots and grabbed her purse. She took two steps out the door. “Coffee!”
She ran back inside and grabbed the travel mug before she ran back to the door. “Bye, Mom!”
“Don’t drive like a maniac.”
She didn’t drive like a maniac, but she did speed a little. They made it to school with minutes to spare, prompting exasperated sighs from her daughter, who hated being late.
“Don’t roll your eyes. Wake me up next time.”
“You know I will!” Abby slammed the door shut, and Melissa watched her run up to the gate of the small country school surrounded by tall oak trees.
All legs. She was like a colt.
