Cowboy Town (24 page)

“G’day Ava, how’ve you been?”

“Been better, Skip.  What about yourself?”

“Same old, same old,” he mutters in reply.

“What can I getcha, Ava love?”  Doreen asks.  Doreen is the owner of The Cow and Calf.  She’s also a born and bred local and has the huskiest voice on a woman I’ve ever heard.  She’s one of the nicest and most sincere woman I know.

“Hey Dory, I’ll have a shot of tequila and keep ‘em comin’,” I demand.

“Bad day?” She replies, cocking an eyebrow.

I nod my response.

“You got it.”  She hurries off to get the alcohol and then places the bottle and a shot glass on the bar in front of me.  I set a fifty dollar note on the bar and begin to alienate myself with good old Patron.

I’d managed to down about half the bottle by the time Jeremy strolled in looking as edible as always.  Dark wash Wrangler jeans covering his bottom half, Black collared shirt with Wrangler written down his left side.  Scuffed high top boots on his feet – his jeans not tucked in.  Usually a man wearing his boots un-tucked annoyed me.  I thought it looked ridiculous.  But on Jeremy Henley it looked
fucking delicious
.

“Hey, Jeremy,” I slur.  The alcohol is definitely bringing out my inner bravado.

“Hey Ava.”  He smiles at me and I melt.  I feel like I could slide right off the stool and pool on the floor in a big alcoholic puddle.  “What’s going on?” He says nodding towards the Patron.

“Nothing much.” I slur again and then use my fingers to shove my tongue back in my mouth and wipe away any escaping drool at the same time. 

“Want some company?”  He grins cheekily and all I can do is stare at his mouth; hypnotized.  I’m pretty sure my tongue is hanging out but I can’t do anything about it.  My reflexes are too slow and besides, Jeremy is just too delicious.

He chuckles, snapping me out of my reverie, and slides onto the stool beside me.

As we finish off the bottle of tequila together, we start to flirt.  Harmlessly at first but then things start getting heated.  I shift in my seat as he blows in my ear and whispers something that I can’t make out.  It doesn’t matter though, it’s still hot as hell.

“I need to pee,” I slur.  Wobbling as I stand, I make my way slowly outside, towards the ladies room.  Once there, I use the facilities and try to give myself a pep talk.  I need to calm down.  Focus.  Sober up a bit so I can enjoy Jeremy and actually remember having this time with him in the morning.  I wash my hands and walk out, running smack bang into a hard wall of warm solidness.

“Sorry,” I giggle before looking up into the hypnotizing clear blue eyes of Jeremy.  He grips me around the waist and pushes me back into the wall.  His hand travels down my leg, pausing at my knee to lift up.  Automatically, I curl my limb around his waist.  He leans in and I smell his sweet, warm, alcohol induced breath as it mingles with mine for a split second before he touches his lips to mine.  I moan involuntarily and then gasp as he grinds his hardness against my softness.  His tongue sweeps in and teases mine in an erotic dance.  My hands dive into his soft chocolate brown and I grip and tug causing a deep groan to rise from his throat.

“Get a room, Henley,” a voice calls as they walk by.  I immediately drop my leg and push him back slightly.  We’re both panting heavily.  I try my hardest to focus.  I’m so turned on its unbelievable.  I would have let him take my virginity right then and there if we hadn’t been interrupted.  But we were.  I take a deep breath and stumble back inside ignoring him calling my name.

“C’mon, love.  Let’s get you a bed for the night.”  Doreen places and arm around my shoulder and leads me towards the cottages at the back of the pub.

The next morning I wake at half past five.  I’ve always been an early riser and I’ve also been blessed with a liver that filters alcohol well, thus meaning I’ve never experienced a hangover.  I stand up out of the bed and look down.  Doreen must have taken my boots off when she put me to bed.  I don’t think I would have been able to coordinate my limbs to achieve the task so it must have been Dory.  I make the bed and leave the cottage.  The sun is just beginning to peek its head over the hills in the distance, but there’s not a sound outside to be heard.  I walk out the side gate and make my way towards my mums coffee house to work the morning shift.  My heart still aches from the loss of Jarrah, but it’s also beating wildly erratically as I walk down the vacant street.  That’s because I’m wondering if I’ll see Jeremy.  Hoping I’ll see him is more like it.  I wonder if he remembers our kiss last night.  Does he regret it?  Does he want to do it again?  God knows I want to do it again.  And again.  I want to do a lot of naughty things with Jeremy Henley.

“Ava, sweetheart.  I didn’t expect you in this morning.”  My mum’s greeting snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Hey mum.  It’s fine.  I feel better today.”

“You shouldn’t!  Skip told me he saw you at the pub yesterday with a bottle of tequila.  Really, Ava!”  She admonishes me.

“For fucks sake, mum.  Give me a break.”

“Ava!
Please
.  At least
try
to act like a lady.  Maybe you should spend some more time with Kennedy.  You don’t see her at the pub with whole bottles of tequila, do you?  Why couldn’t you just have a glass of wine, like a lady?”

Of course.  Kennedy is fucking brilliant.  She can do no wrong.  If only my parents knew what a little slut she was, they wouldn’t think she was so lady like!

“Whatever, mum.  I’m here to work.  If you don’t need me I’ll go home and see if dad needs a hand.”  My tone is bored, because this conversation is boring and old.  I hear the same shit every time I cuss.

“Well, you’re here now, you might as well stay put.”

No surprises there.

I left the shop after the lunch rush was over.  After arriving home, I grabbed a shower and then my day officially turned to shit.

“How was your night?” Kennedy asks as I’m towel drying my hair.

“Drunken,” I reply sarcastically.

“Jeremy a good screw isn’t he?  He’s the best I’ve had… by far,” she comments sweetly.  I turn to look at her.  I’m shocked.  I mean, I know that she’s spent a ton of time with both the Henley boys over the years, but I never
ever
even considered that she’d slept with one of them.

“What?” I ask sounded choked.  I know I shouldn’t give her any sign of emotion to use as leverage, but I can’t help it.

“Oh,” she gasps, appearing shocked, but it’s fake. I could slap her.  “You didn’t know?” A burst of laughter escapes her mouth.  “Oh, I’m sorry, Ava.  But I do remember telling you some time ago that you wouldn’t find a man in this town who wasn’t giving you my sloppy seconds.  Did you forget?”  Her face is a picture of smugness.  I want to rip her hair out and punch her in the face, wiping the arrogant look right off.  I don’t though.  Instead, I try my best to look as blank as possible as I flip my hair back over my shoulder and mutter, “Whatever, Kennedy.”

“Oh my god!” she screeches.  “He didn’t fuck you, did he?  Ha!  Most likely because he doesn’t want second best.  I bet you feel like a worthless piece of shit, Ava,” she grins spitefully.

“Fuck. Off. Kennedy,” I spit, annunciating every word slowly and forcefully.

“Oh, Ava, Ava, Ava,” she tuts, “I also specifically remember telling you that no guy in this town would want you, and this just proves my point.”  She skips away giggling like a fucking school girl.

What’s the going jail sentence for murder these days?  I could argue mental impairment or something, surely…

With a heavy heart and tears stinging the back of my eyes, I walk towards the stables.  I have so many angry thoughts running through my head, I just need to escape.  I saddle up my horse, Sampson.  Dad and I brought him two years ago when we put Jarrah out to pasture.  He’s a massively built buckskin gelding stock horse.  He’s bred from quality lines and after only a few months of training he quickly became one of the best mustering horses on our property.  I put my left foot in the stirrup and boost myself up, swinging my right leg over his back.  I adjust myself in the saddle and put my iPod ear buds in my ears.  I find the song I need and press repeat.  After a swift kick in the ribs, we’re cantering up the paddock.  I feel the cold wind hitting the tears streaming down my face, but I don’t care.  I just keep riding as I concentrate on the words Brooks and Dunn are singing with Reba McEntire in
Cowgirls Don’t Cry. 

I spent the next three and a bit years working for the Rousseau family.  The two children I minded were delightful and well-mannered little beings whose parents were pillars of society in their community.  The boy, Enzo, was seven and his sister, Mathilde, was six.  They both attended an elite private school during the day, which left me a few hours of free time.  My basic routine was to get them out of bed, fed and dressed and off to school on time.  Unless there was something specific that Mr. and Mrs. Rousseau had requested I do, school hours were my own.  I explored and shopped.  I spent a great deal of time in silent contemplation; thinking about Jeremy and me, then Jeremy and my sister. 

Slowly but surely, my heart started to mend.  I met a wonderful French man named Gaston.  We met at the park one day; he was there walking his dog, I was there reading in the sunshine.  He wasn’t the most beautiful looking specimen, but he had a heart of gold that more than made up for his lacking in the looks department.  I loved seeing his dimple appear when I made him laugh.  Even more, I loved hearing him say my name in his sexy-as-hell French accent.  He was the complete opposite of Jeremy and just what I need.  He was a businessman and wore suits.  He spoke good English and treated me like a queen.  We’d been together for about two months when I gave him my virginity.  He was sweet, caring and gentle.  It didn’t hurt like I thought it would, but I remembered reading somewhere a long time ago that sometimes horse riding can rupture a woman’s hymen.  It seems that was true for me because there was no searing pain like I had imagined there would be.

Gaston and I became close, but we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere.  He was climbing the corporate ladder in his dad’s company and I would soon be heading back to Australia.  We’d been seeing each other for around ten months when the time came for us to say
au revoir
.  I said a tearful goodbye to Enzo, Mathilde and their parents and after Gaston drove me to the airport.

“
Bébé, vous êtes si précieux à moi
,” Gaston whispered in my ear as we hugged tightly in the departing lounge.  I’d learned plenty of French since I’d lived here – my mum and dad had even remarked that I’d picked up a bit of an accent myself – so I could understand a lot of what people said to me.  Sometimes it was difficult if they spoke really fast, but as long as I could pick up a few words here and there, I could generally piece together what they were saying.

“You’re precious to me, too,” I choked back.

“
Vous êtes mon amour et je vous manquerai
.”  He looked me directly in the eye and said the words so sincerely; I couldn’t help but let a sob escape.  His beautiful words meant
you are my love and I will miss you.

I kissed him on the mouth and whispered, “Je t'aime.  I love you.”  Then I boarded my plane and headed for a country I’d missed beyond belief, my Australia.

I’m nervous on the flight back.  Mainly because I haven’t spoken to my sister since I left.  She hasn’t tried to contact me so I haven’t made the effort either.  My parents have kept me informed about her work and how proud they are of her. 
Oh and we’re proud of you as well, Ava.
  Yeah, that’s me – always a fucking afterthought.  I had bitten my tongue every time I wanted to ask about Jeremy – which was a lot – so I had no idea how he was or what he had been doing.  I was excited and nervous to see him again and I couldn’t help but wonder if my old feelings would resurface.  I had successfully managed to rebuild my shattered heart while I was away and I was feeling good about going home.  I was ready.  It was time.

“Oh, Ava,” My mum gasps, “Look at you!  All grown up.”  She pulls me in for a loose hug with a customary pat on the back before holding me at arm’s length to look me over.  When I first moved abroad, I had gotten my hair cut into a sharp bob just below my ears.  When I left, it was half way down my back, so the change was a bit dramatic.  I also wore a cute little beret.  My fingernails were now long and manicured – something I knew would have to change once I got back to the Station; you couldn’t have long nails when working on a property.